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THE WORLD 
and W I if STOW 

By S\ 

EDITH HENRIETTA FOWLER 



NEW TORK . DODD, MEAD 
AND COMPANY . M C M T 



THE U«*ARY OF 
CONGRESS. 
Two Copies Received 

AUG. 29 1901 

COPVRIOMT ENTRY 

j 8 m. * «« 

CLASS IKm* No. 

1 9l<t<ot 

COPY - 



Copyright , 1900, by 

Edith Henrietta Fowler 


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Contents 


CHAP. 

I. 

AS CHILDREN . 


PAGE 

1 

II. 

PRIZE DAYS 

. 

. 20 

III. 

THRESHOLDS . 


CO 

IY. 

MERTON WAIN WRIGHT . 


. n 

V. 

RENNEL HILL . 


. in 

VI. 

TOWN LIFE 


. 149 

VII. 

AN AMATEUR CONCERT . 


. 190 

VIII. 

JACK KENYON 


. 234 

IX. 

GEORGINA’S MARRIAGE . 


. 254 

X. 

DRIFTING APART 


. 278 

XI. 

THE WHITE BALL . 


. 317 

XII. 

INTO THE VALLEY . 


. 352 

XIII. 

KERRIESORT LODGE 


. 384 

XIV. 

“ THE MEASURE YE METE ” 


. 423 


\ 




The World and Winstow 


CHAPTER I 

AS CHILDREN 

“ It is too difficult, it really is ! ” and despair 
rang in the childish voice as she threw down her 
dictionary and grammar. 

“Do not make such a noise, Ursula; it dis- 
turbs me,” replied her father reprovingly. 

“Oh, I wish I was clever,” sighed the child, 
“ so that things might be easier. I don’t believe 
any of the girls take as long over their lessons as 
I do. And yet they learn them quite as well, 
though I don’t believe they want to half as 
much.” 

She rested her tired little face on one of her 
hands, and her eyes wandered to the picture of 
the garden as it glowed with sunset colour 
through the open window. How fresh and 
bright it seemed out there, and how Ursula 
longed to be drinking in the sweet air that the 
evening wind was bringing down from the 


2 


THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


moors ! School hours almost filled the day, and 
left little vigour for out-of-door life, and yet the 
child was always longing for it. She was so 
weak and delicate, and the world was such a 
busy place for the motherless little girl, who had 
the responsibility of the house, as well as of the 
head of it, on her tiny shoulders. And so play- 
time was almost forgotten by the time that Ur- 
sula was eleven. An eager spirit dwelt in the 
frail body, and a burning ambition to succeed in 
all the departments of life to which she was 
called. To please her father, and have things 
nice at home ; to do her lessons well, and rise in 
her class at school ; above all, to win the grudg- 
ing approbation of a certain schoolboy friend, — 
these were Ursula’s great ideals, and for these 
she struggled to spend more strength than in 
fact she possessed. 

The dreamy look faded from her eyes, and she 
came back to her books with a start. 

“I must do it,” she said to herself, and her 
little mouth tightened with firmness, “or else 
Beatrice Holt will get above me to-morrow, and 
I shall lose marks for the prize.” And the small 
close-cropped head was bent once more deter- 
minedly over the dictionary, by the help of 
which Ursula was trying to construe the piece 


AS CHILDKEN 


3 


of Cassar that was designed for the morrow’s 
lesson. 

Ursula Grey and her father lived in a small 
house on the outskirts of a quaint old country 
town, which nestled by the side of a river, just 
where its course is nearly run, and the Channel 
rushes up to welcome it home to the sea. The 
hurried murmur of its waters can be heard up on 
the moors, down from which the woodlands 
slope, till the hush of the swelling tide proclaims 
a silence far away up inland amid the stillness 
of unbroken meadow country. Big hills clasp 
hands to keep the town well-nigh encircled by 
their protecting presence, and forests of trees 
and tangled undergrowth clothe their steep sides. 
In spring the freshness of the young larches 
paints the whole countryside with the feathery 
beauty of their living green, and in the autumn 
the rich russet of the landscape claims the greater 
beauty of colour for its own. A very old-world 
town was Winstow, with winding streets and 
small dark shops opening into sunny gardens at 
their rear. It could not boast of any improve- 
ments — no enterprising Corporation, no tram- 
ways, or water works, or electric light. Its pride 
rather lay in the things of its past — in the ruined 
castle, that held old stories of the feasting of 


4 


THE WORLD AKD WINSTOW 


nobles and the visits of kings ; in the splendid 
Abbey, a few miles up the river, which through 
many centuries has stood as a witness of the de- 
voted skill of long-forgotten workers, and in 
spite of crumbling walls and broken roof and 
grass-grown pavements yet by its wondrous dig- 
nity and beauty proclaims itself to be the Temple 
of the Lord. There was no art gallery in Win- 
stow, but from every street corner could be seen 
a view so fair and far-reaching that the most 
careless passer-by would pause and look, and 
thereby learn perhaps more than a painted pic- 
ture could possibly teach. The Grammar School, 
dating from very early times, stood at the sum- 
mit of the main street, and within its old grey 
walls the sons of many former generations had 
learned their classics and their manhood without 
the interruption of any modern side. At the 
foot of the same street a grey house frowned on 
the outside world, and cast a stern glance from 
its uncurtained windows on the follies and faults 
of the “young ladies” for whom it announced 
itself to be the “Seminary.” And here it was 
that Ursula Grey, together with all the other 
girls of the town, went to school. 

Mr. Grey’s profession was the law, and his rec- 
reation an invalid’s role. His pastime had been 


AS CHILDREN* 


5 


the study of medical books, from which he dem- 
onstrated that he was already the victim of sev- 
eral mortal diseases, but as they failed to prove 
his mortality he became more and more ag- 
grieved, blaming mankind in general, and provi- 
dence in particular, for the inefficiency of the 
said diseases to perform the task he had allotted 
to them. Ursula was his only child, and he 
hoped to train her to become his nurse. Always 
far from strong herself, she was quick to sympa- 
thise with the suffering her father continually 
talked of, and anxious to bring the difficult 
gleams of enjoyment into his life. She had a 
faint memory of times when her mother was 
with them, and her father used to laugh and 
even play, and then there came a blurred recol- 
lection of a day when people all cried, though 
she was made quite happy with as many apples 
to eat as she wanted, a piece of good fortune 
which had never happened to her before. And 
after that her mother did not come back, and she 
went to Miss Paterson’s day school, and life be- 
gan in earnest. 

“I am going out for a little walk,” said her 
father suddenly ; “ I think it will do me good.” 

“ I wish I could come too,” replied the child 
wistfully. 


6 


THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ What ! And neglect your lessons ! I am 
surprised at you, Ursula ! And besides, are you 
not working for a prize ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, father ! I want that prize more 
than anything else in the world. I do hope I 
shall get it.” 

“Perseverance is everything, my dear,” an- 
swered Mr. Grey. “ Good-night, in case you are 
in bed by the time of my return. I feel more 
able to take a walk now than earlier in the day 
when the sun was so hot.” 

It was a very pale and pinched little face that 
Ursula lifted to be kissed, but her big grey eyes 
glowed with enthusiasm at the thought of the 
possible prize, and her lips smiled slightly. 

“ Good-night, daddy ! Take care of yourself.” 

He had not been gone for more than a quar- 
ter of an hour before a noisy step was heard in 
the hall. 

“ Where are you, Ursula ? ” called a cheerful 
voice. “ I saw your father on the way.” 

“ Oh, Merton ! ” cried the little girl delightedly, 
“ is it really you ? I am so glad you have come.” 

“What are you doing?” continued the boy, 
glancing towards the books. “You don’t mean 
to say your lessons aren’t done yet ? It is nearly 
eight o’clock ! ” 


AS CHILDREN 7 

“ I know. But, Merton, this is so difficult. I 
can’t make it out.” 

“Well, you are a silly ! ” he replied candidly. 
“ And an easy little paragraph like that ! Look 
here, Ursula : this is your nominative, and there 
is the verb, and that is an accusative and in- 
finitive, you know. For goodness’ sake don’t 
begin bothering looking out words. I know 
them all. Don’t you see the sense now ? ” 

“ Oh, Merton ! ” she exclaimed in awe-struck 
ecstasy, “ how frightfully clever you are ! Of 
course I see it now. I wonder what made me so 
stupid ? ” 

“Well, come out, and risk the parsing. I 
should think you knew all the principal parts of 
these verbs.” And the boy picked up his motar- 
board, which he had thrown on the table. 

“ How lovely it is out of doors ! ” exclaimed 
the little girl, lifting her hot face to the fanning 
breeze. “ I have been so busy all day.” 

“We played cricket this afternoon. I made 
thirty. It is jolly to do things well, isn’t it? I 
mean to be in the first eleven next year. Mr. 
Carpenter stopped to-day and said how well I 
played.” And the boy’s handsome dark face 
flushed with pleasure at the remembrance. 

“You are so clever at everything, Merton,” re- 


8 


THE WOKLD ANT) WINSTOW 


plied his friend admiringly. “I do think it is 
splendid for you. I wish I was too.” 

“ Oh, girls don’t matter,” he remarked loftily, 
“ and you are pretty high in the school for your 
age, you know.” 

“ If only I could get the Latin prize I should 
get into the first class. I am trying so fright- 
fully hard for it.” 

“ Then you’ll get it sure enough. I say, I will 
come to the prize-giving if you do, and give you 
a fine old cheer.” 

“ Will you really, Merton ? How good of you ! 
I am looking forward awfully to the prize-giving 
at the Grammar School. It is my favourite thing 
in all the year.” 

“ Why ? ” asked Merton, with some surprise. 

“ I don’t know,” and Ursula looked thought- 
ful ; “ only it makes me so excited and wanting 
to cry with gladness when the boys clap, and 
especially when you come up for your prizes, 
Merton.” 

“ Bosh ! ” interrupted her companion. “ But I 
shall have a lot of prizes this time, I expect. 
None of the other fellows can beat me when I 
really try.” And he threw his head up proudly. 

Merton Wain wright was a wonderfully clever 
boy. His father, the successful draper of Win- 


AS CHILDREN 


9 


stow, hoped that his only son would one day 
enter into the old-established business, and find a 
comfortable fortune there ; but the masters at the 
Grammar School knew otherwise. They saw the 
growing power of the boy’s brain, and felt sure 
that Merton would never be content with the 
quiet country life which had satisfied his fathers 
for several generations before him. They saw 
that the one school scholarship was easily within 
his reach, and that with it he would go to Ox- 
ford and outgrow the paternal traditions — and 
they were all proud of the young scholar who 
would bring honour to the school, and thereby 
repay the long hours of teaching which the 
average boys of Winstow turned to such poor 
account. Mr. Wain wright had not much sym- 
pathy with the classics, but be had enormous ad- 
miration for success, and so there was rejoic- 
ing in the big comfortable house behind the shop 
when Merton brought home richly-bound prizes 
with which his mother was accustomed to adorn 
the round, bare, polished table in the centre of 
the unlived-in drawing-room. Ursula and Merton 
had always been friends. Possibly the reason 
was in those early days, just as it is in so many 
later ones, that she was so utterly different from 
his sisters. For the Wain wright girls, one a 


10 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


great deal older than himself, and one a year 
younger, were both robust and commonplace, 
with few aspirations beyond the trimming of 
their hats, or what, in their different ways, they 
designated as a “ bit of fun.” They had not any 
respect for their brother’s brilliant talents, but 
they had much for their father’s gold-lined till ; 
and they regarded poor little Ursula Grey with 
that patronising pity which, even as a child, she 
shrank from, though she could not understand 
why. 

To Ursula, Merton and his successes were the 
absorbing interest of her life. She possessed an 
enormous power of hero-worship, and to win a 
word of praise from him made her blissfully 
happy for a week. That he should consider her 
good to look at she was too young to have 
imagined, but that he should think her clever 
was her untiring hope. So she toiled over the 
difficult lessons, and in a measure succeeded, 
never knowing that more power lurked in the 
large, sad, grey eyes, and the pathetic lines of 
her wistful face, than in all the Latin she would 
be able to compress into her aching head. And 
in those days Merton did not know this either. 

On the following day the girls of Miss Pater- 
son’s school were awaiting their Latin lesson. It 


AS CHILDREN 


11 


was given by one of the Grammar School mas- 
ters, who lived with his sister on the way up 
from Winstow to the Chase. A quiet, rather 
dull personage in the opinion of the Winstow 
world, but the boys called him “a good sort,” 
and it is just possible that their opinion was the 
more worth having of the two. 

“Young ladies, young ladies! no tittering, if 
you please ! ” rang out Miss Paterson’s orthodox 
schoolmistress voice, as some one had evidently 
knocked down an umbrella in the hall. And then 
David Carpenter walked in, more shy and em- 
barrassed by the small feminine class, than he 
would have been by the whole two hundred 
Grammar School boys. Perhaps there is no point 
in the whole of life where humour sinks to so low 
a level as at a girls’ school ; a broken pencil or 
the dropping of a book being enough to reduce a 
class to inextinguishable mirth ; while a girl who 
walked with a mincing gait and pursed up her 
lips with assumed propriety proved herself the 
admired wit and humourist of the whole com- 
munity. 

“ Ursula Grey, top marks ! ” said the master at 
the close of the lesson. “You construed very 
well indeed,” he added kindly, as the child’s face 
flushed with excited pleasure. 


12 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ I don’t care, I believe you were helped,” said 
one of the girls crossly as they started on their 
homeward way. The gladness on Ursula’s face 
faded. She had never thought about that when 
Mr. Carpenter was speaking, but it robbed her 
little triumph of all its joy. And she had worked 
so hard over that lesson, even apart from Merton’s 
help. 

“ It is downright wicked,” continued Beatrice 
Holt, who was Ursula’s rival for the prize, “and 
acting a lie and being mean and horrid. I’d be 
ashamed to get marks by stolen work,” she added 
in righteous indignation as she slammed the gate 
which guarded the Holts’ front drive. 

Big tears filled Ursula’s eyes, and her small 
soul was full of sorrow. She spent a most un- 
happy evening, and with the night came a darker, 
deeper sense of sin. 

“ I am really wicked,” she murmured under her 
breath just to give the feeling form, and the big 
brown wardrobe seemed to frown at the iniquity 
of little girls. All the familiar objects of the 
room looked unfamiliar and unfriendly in the 
strange dim light that crept from the moon 
through the closed blinds ; and Ursula lay with 
burning cheeks and trembling hands alone with 
her remorse all through one of the long hours 


AS CHILDKEN 


13 


that lie between the summer sunset and the early 
dawn. Weird noises of a whispering breeze out- 
side or a creaking clothes-basket within, filled her 
with terror, and kept reminding her how wicked 
she was. 

Wickedness had always seemed such a dread- 
ful, far-off thing to Ursula, linking in a way the 
big oak pulpit of the church with a God who 
dwelt somewhere above it, and was terribly strict 
even with grown-up people. But she herself had 
always hoped to escape. And now, in the loneli- 
ness of the night, she felt a fresh thrill of terror 
in remembering that God never went to sleep ; 
and her poor little hands were stretched out in 
pleading misery for protection. And protection 
came, though the child knew not that it was from 
the God she dreaded. The soothing touch of 
sleep closed her tired eyes, and hushed her into a 
dreamless rest ; and when she awoke the sun was 
shining and the birds were singing, and a com- 
forting thought crept in to heal the wound. She 
would go herself and tell Mr. Carpenter all about 
it, and he would be able to wipe all the wicked- 
ness away. She felt sure he would, for did not 
he wear a cap and gown in school, and that 
showed how clever and powerful he was ? 

Miss Georgina Carpenter was a very important 


14 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


member of Winstow society. A tall, handsome, 
hard-faced woman of over forty, who had it on 
her conscience to improve the world in general 
and her brother David in particular, for whom 
she kept house, and who was her junior by several 
years. Among the duties of women she held to 
be the proper preparing of the household meals, 
but the idea that pleasant companionship and 
sympathetic interest might be as important to 
the tired and hungry man at the head of the 
house as well-cooked vegetables and a variety 
of puddings, never once entered her head. She 
prided herself on her candour and brusque- 
ness, and David grew daily more silent and 
reserved. 

It was rather a long, uphill walk to Thornwood 
Cottage, where the Carpenters lived, but directly 
afternoon school was over Ursula started in 
great haste. She was so anxious to get the 
cloud cleared away — and living so much in a 
grown-up world with her father prevented her 
from being as shy as small schoolgirls generally 
are. 

“ Please is Mr. Carpenter at home ? ” she asked 
the servant, and immediately Georgina came out 
into the hall. 

“ What do you want ? Let me see what child 


AS CHILDREN 


15 


it is ? Oh ! Ursula Grey. What do you want 
up here ? A message from your father, per- 
haps ? ” 

“ I want to see Mr. Carpenter, please,” Ursula 
explained during the first pause. 

“ Mr. Carpenter is busy,” replied his sister, who 
always took upon herself to answer for David, 
quite irrespective of his wishes. “ Tell me your 
business, instead.” 

“ But I must see him,” pleaded the child ; “ it 
is only a very short thing I have to say.” 

“ Say it to me,” persisted Georgina. “ I can- 
not allow him to be disturbed just as he has come 
in from school.” 

Ursula’s mouth tightened. She was not the 
only person who felt inclined to fight with Geor- 
gina, though she was one of the smallest. 

“ Please ask him if he is too busy to see me,” 
she continued. 

“Upon my word,” exclaimed Georgina, “how 
many more times must I speak ? ” 

But her sentence was cut short by the opening 
of the study door, and the appearance of David 
in the hall. 

“ Oh, Mr. Carpenter ! ” cried Ursula, “ please 
let me come into your room and speak to you. 
It is so very important.” 


16 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ What is the matter ? ” asked David, perceiv- 
ing his sister’s ruffled countenance. 

“ I was only trying to save you trouble,” said 
Georgina sharply, “ and as usual I get no thanks 
for it. That is always the way with men,” and 
she bounced back into the sitting-room. 

“ Can I do anything for you ? ” began David, 
leading the child into his study. 

Ursula looked up at him fearlessly. 

“Oh, please, Mr. Carpenter, it was Merton 
helping me that made my Caesar so good, and the 
girls said it was wicked to get top marks for it — 
only I never thought. Will you please take the 
wickedness away ? ” and she laid a small pleading 
hand on his coat sleeve. 

David Carpenter looked down at her in won- 
der. He had no experience of the tender con- 
sciences of little girls, and he felt clumsy and 
afraid of breaking something which was too frail 
for him to handle. 

“ It — it is all right,” he said lamely, though 
wishing he knew better how to talk to her. 

“ And I did not mean to be wicked,” she con- 
tinued, with a confiding little gesture, “ only I 
was so tired and it was too difficult till Merton 
came in and showed me how to do it. I am so 
sorry.” 


AS CHILDREN 17 

“Don’t be that.” And David looked dis- 
tressed. “ It was not really wicked at all.” 

“ Not wicked,” exclaimed Ursula, and a glad 
light spread over her wistful face. “And are 
you sure that God isn’t angry with me ? ” 

David was more and more embarrassed. He 
did not know how to answer such questions, being 
far too reserved ever to mention even the name 
of God in ordinary conversation, or indeed any 
of the things he held most dear. 

“ I thought He was in the night,” continued 
the child, “ and it frightened me so.” 

“ No, no,” replied David gravely, “ you — you 
must never think that, because — because it would 
not be true.” And his face flushed with the ef- 
fort of speaking of such things. 

“ I didn’t know God was as kind as you,” said 
Ursula softly. “ You see, you’ve taken all the 
wickedness away, and I am quite happy again.” 

The man stood silent, with a new feeling 
creeping into his heart — the feeling of chivalry 
and power of protection and tenderness such as 
lurks in most manly souls if only those who need 
it will claim such help. But it had never struck 
David before that any one could really want his. 
His sister, by her aggressive independence and 
scorn of weakness, was hardening his reserve 


18 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


into an iron wall concerning his fellows, and he 
had never known any other woman intimately 
enough to learn his mistake. He looked down 
on the child beside him with a kind light in his 
eyes, and he felt that it was good to be able to 
wipe away even one of the smallest of earth’s sor- 
rows. He never knew before that he could. 

Just then the door opened and Georgina 
bustled in. 

“ What is all this about ? It is time you went 
home, Ursula, or you will be late for your fa- 
ther’s tea.” 

“Give her a drink of milk first,” suggested 
David. 

Georgina looked indignant. 

“ Surely, David, I can manage my department 
in this house without your interference. Drink- 
ing milk between meals is an extremely bad 
habit, and spoils a child’s appetite. But I should 
have offered Ursula a glass of barley water with- 
out your suggestion.” 

Her brother turned away with a sigh ; the jar 
grated and tired him strangely. 

“ Good-night,” he said, as Ursula held out her 
hand. “ And you did the rest of your lessons, 
very well apart from the construing.” 

“ I cannot have you bothered about school 


AS CHILDKEN 


19 


work when you are at home,” chimed in Geor- 
gina again j “ I want you to rest then. But I 
get no thanks for my consideration,” she added 
in an injured voice. 

But the whole atmosphere was changed for 
Ursula. She ran down the hill as if on air, and 
was so bright at tea that her father expressed as- 
tonishment. It was so long since Ursula had 
found any one to take up a burden for her, 
longer than she could remember. She had car- 
ried so many all by herself, for even her happi- 
ness in Merton’s friendship meant much wear 
and tear to keep up with his interests and ex- 
ploits. So it was a new and restful sensation to 
the tired spirit to find somebody who could and 
would help her. 

After she had said her conventional, stiff little 
prayers that night, the child knelt on for a few 
moments in silence, and then she whispered 
softly, “ And please God, thank you for being as 
kind as Mr. Carpenter,” which was her first real 
prayer, and so the first faint flicker of a higher 
Light. 


CHAPTER II 


PRIZE DAYS 

The last week in July brought some great 
events to Winstow. Speech day at the Grammar 
School was the most important ; and there was 
also a prize-giving at Miss Paterson’s, and an 
evening party afterwards, at which the pupils pro- 
vided miscellaneous entertainment. To Ursula 
it was a week of thrilling excitement as well as 
sickening anxiety. She gloried in the prizes 
Merton was sure to win, and she made herself 
quite ill with nervousness over her efforts to 
succeed also. 

“Can I help you, David?” asked Georgina 
Carpenter, going into the study where her 
brother sat at a table piled with examination 
papers. “ Let me look over the girls’ answers. 
You have surely enough to do with the Grammar 
School work ? ” 

“Ho, thank you,” he answered absently; “I 
must do them all myself because I have to award 
the prizes.” 

“That is nonsense, David. As if I did not 

know how to do that quite as well as you — in 
20 


PEIZE DAYS 


21 


fact, much better, seeing that I have more knowl- 
edge of girls’ work. And you might surely 
know that without my telling you. I should 
have been a splendid governess myself, only I 
had so much more important work to do ; and 
besides, you needed some one to keep house for 
you. If I were not here, it is my opinion you 
would never sit properly through a single meal, 
and fall into no end of bad habits.” 

David looked up resignedly. His elder sister’s 
vigour and management crushed him into ac- 
quiescence. 

“You are quite right, Georgina; but I have 
nearly finished now. There are only these Latin 
papers from Miss Paterson’s.” 

Georgina took them out of his hands. 

“ I know as much Latin as you do. Indeed, if 
only I had been a man, and not fettered by the 
ridiculous limits of sex, which, thank heaven, are 
being yearly swept away, I should have taken a 
far better degree than you did; and not been 
content to settle down at such a school as 
Winstow, teaching little girls and such-like on 
my half-holidays. But you never had any go in 
you, David. I remember what a disappointment 
it was to our poor parents that you never won a 
prize all the time you were at school.” 


22 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


David winced. The prizes of life had never 
been within his reach, and yet he had always 
done his best. A big, square man, with none of 
the athlete’s grace, only clumsy with an ill- 
directed strength. A silent man, with none of 
the attractions of thoughtfulness or the influence 
of hidden wisdom. An earnest man, yet with no 
power of expressing anything which he really 
thought or felt. So the world had been always 
hard on David, and though it was not his fault 
that it had, perhaps it was not the world’s either, 
seeing that the world has little time and less 
opportunity for diving into the secret chambers 
of the soul and finding out the hidden treasure 
there. There is only one shaft sunk into such 
natures as these, and the head of it God holds in 
heaven, and others never go down it unless their 
name is Love, and God sends them as His special 
messenger. 

“ Here, David,” continued his sister, “ I will 
weed them out, and you need only look at the 
best — and there is no doubt which that is,” she 
added after a quick perusal of the heap. “ It is 
signed by Beatrice Holt.” 

“ Yes, it is wonderfully correct,” said David ; 
“ but let me look ” 

“ Now, do be quiet,” snapped Georgina, “ and 


PRIZE DAYS 


23 


not worry yourself about any of the others. I 
tell you that this is undoubtedly the first, and 
instead of taking my word for it you must needs 
want to go over the work yourself, too. A nice 
compliment that is to me. As if my judgment 
were not to be relied upon ! ” 

“ Indeed, I have great confidence in your judg- 
ment, Georgina.” 

“ And well you need have. I should like to 
see what would have become of you without it. 
For when we lost our parents there was no one 
but me to look after you.” 

“You have indeed looked after me,” replied 
David, and a faint smile lurked round his mouth. 

“ And little thanks I get for it. But that is 
the way of the world. Women have most of the 
work and none of the thanks ; and men are 
spoiled from the cradle upwards.” 

“ It is very late,” remarked David ; “ time for 
you to be going to bed.” 

“I shall not go before you,” and Georgina’s 
voice was very determined. “ How should I 
know that the lights were properly put out, and 
the house safe from fire ? ” 

David picked up the examination papers with- 
out a word. He was a thorough man, and had 
been one ever since he found that he was not a 


24 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


popular boy. In his teens he had taken life 
seriously, and seemed quite as old as Georgina 
directly he was of age. It was because of this 
innate manliness that his sister devoted herself to 
his discipline. Georgina would never have trou- 
bled to reform any one whom she felt was not 
worthy of her enormous reforming powers. She 
admired David in her secret heart, but she deemed 
approbation a pernicious diet for mankind, and she 
felt it her mission in life to rub off all the scanty 
gilt with which his gingerbread might have been 
adorned, had she devoted herself to making his 
home pleasant rather than punitive. 

“ There is no need for you to work any more 
to-night,” she said snappishly. But her brother 
only smiled. 

“ The papers of Miss Paterson’s girls are not 
very hard work,” he said quietly. Fortunately 
David Carpenter was blessed with a temper 
sufficiently equable even to stand against the per- 
petual improvement of his character at the hands 
of Georgina. He never tried to improve her, 
which was just as well, seeing that her temper 
was made of just the opposite material. 

It was a spotlessly neat and careful paper that 
David picked out, but, alas ! it was not so correct 
as the other. He read it carefully ; his impassive 


PEIZE DAYS 


25 


face clouded over as he pictured Ursula’s dis- 
appointment. He thought again of her little 
pleading face, and the pathetic expression in her 
eyes, and a slight sigh escaped him as he folded 
her unsuccessful effort up again. 

“ There, David ! ” interrupted Georgina, “ I 
can tell how tired you are ; I wish you would 
not be so stupid as to take so little care of your- 
self. It gives me a great deal of unnecessary 
anxiety.” 

“ Good-night, Georgina. I suppose you re- 
fused Miss Paterson’s invitation for me on 
Thursday night ? ” 

“ jSTo, I did not. I accepted it.” 

“ But I never go to parties, you know ; I de- 
test them.” 

“ That is of no importance,” remarked his sis- 
ter coolly as she folded up her work. “And 
it would offend Miss Paterson seriously if you 
were not to be there, seeing that you teach at 
her school.” 

“ What a terrible bore ! But I suppose it can- 
not be helped now.” 

“ Helped, indeed ! I should think not. Why, 
if it were not for me, you would not have a 
single friend in the place.” 

But herein Georgina was mistaken. If it had 


26 THE WOULD AHD WIHSTOW 


not been for her David Carpenter might have 
had several more of them. 

The prize-giving at the Grammar School was 
the greatest pageant Ursula had ever seen, and 
it filled her small soul as full as all pageants will 
the hearts of those who really see them. When 
the masters entered in procession wearing their 
caps and gowns, and amid the deafening cheers 
of the boys, Ursula could hardly keep from cry- 
ing. She listened to the speeches with an eager 
excitement which flamed in her eyes, and painted 
her pale cheeks crimson. The dull old county 
magnate who distributed the prizes seemed to 
her a kind of uncrowned king, and her hands 
smarted with clapping at every pause in his 
wearisome oration. When the boys began to 
come up, her heart beat faster and faster till she 
almost choked with emotion as Merton Wain- 
wright’s name was called out and he walked up 
to the platform with that fearless, confident air 
which filled Ursula with fresh floods of admira- 
tion. There was no boy in the school who had 
won so many prizes as he, and the old baronet 
in the chair said a few words of special and con- 
ventional commendation. Ursula forgot all her 
own small ambitions in his triumphs, and though 
he told her not to bother when she congratu- 


PEIZE DAYS 27 

lated him afterwards, the boy was gratified by 
the intensity of her adulation. 

‘‘You do like me, don’t you, Merton?” she 
added a little wistfully, for somehow his success 
seemed to have lifted him so far above her. 

“ Of course I do. What rot ! ” replied the 
hero. 

“ Do you like me as much as you do your sis- 
ter Gladys? ” she persisted, having always a feel- 
ing of envy for the schoolfellow who was blessed 
with such a brother as Merton for her very 
own. 

“ I don’t think you are either very pretty,” he 
observed judicially, “ but you are much cleverer, 
and I like you best.” 

Then Ursula’s cup was full, and she began to 
realise that the approval of some one else’s 
brother might be as much worth having as 
that of one’s own. She was not old enough to 
know then that it might even exceed it. 

“ But Gertrude is pretty,” she added, referring 
to the grown-up Miss Wainwright. 

“ And vain ! ” remarked Merton scornfully. 

“ Gladys told me she was vain,” continued 
Ursula in a shocked voice. “ She actually looks 
in the glass to do her hair. Gladys caught her 
at it,” 


28 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“Well, I like your face best, even though it 
isn’t pretty,” said the boy thoughtfully. 

“ Oh, Merton ! how good of you ! ” And 
Ursula’s day was a very happy one indeed. 

It was fortunate that it was, for the morrow 
brought the crushing disappointment of losing 
the Latin prize for which she had worked so 
hard. 

“It was a painful surprise to me that you 
failed,” her father told her on their return home. 

“ I couldn’t help it, daddy. I tried my very 
best,” and a sob caught in her throat. 

The trouble in her eyes drew David Carpenter 
out of his way, and he followed them up to the 
garden gate. Then he stood silent, not knowing 
exactly why he had come. But Mr. Grey helped 
him out of the difficulty. 

“ It must have been a disappointment to you, 
her master, as well as to me, her father, that 
Ursula did so badly,” he began in his metallic 
voice. 

“But she did not do badly,” David hastily 
interposed, seeing the child’s face whiten. 

“ Results, Mr. Carpenter ! Results ! ” exclaimed 
Mr. Grey fussily. “They are a sure indica- 
tion.” 

David’s thoughts wandered back over all his 


PRIZE DAYS 


29 


own efforts and strivings, and the few and worth- 
less results he had to show for them ; but he did 
not know how to refute Mr. Grey’s assertion. 
Instead, he smiled at Ursula, and said gently, — 

“You did very well indeed. You would have 
won the prize if Beatrice Holt had not been so 
much older.” 

Ursula crept after him as he turned away. 

“Oh, Mr. Carpenter!” she whispered. “My 
mind is chock full of miserableness,” and then 
the big tears overflowed, and one fell on his 
coat sleeve. 

“ Don’t cry,” imploringly. “ Don’t cry, my 
dear,” he added in a shamefaced way, and then 
hurried off up the hill with feelings of a most 
unjust vindictiveness against the successful Bea- 
trice. 

Miss Paterson’s party was from seven o’clock 
till ten. It began with coffee and cake, and 
ended with sandwiches and lemonade; and be- 
tween the two, people sat in stiff rows in the 
drawing-room, listening to the rendering of 
“ William Tell ” as a duet on the piano, and 
“The Charge of the Light Brigade” as a reci- 
tation, together with selections of the other ac- 
complishments of Miss Paterson’s pupils. 

David Carpenter lounged in the doorway, wish- 


30 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


ing with, all his might that he were at home. 
And Ursula knelt on the landing peeping through 
the banisters, as she was not one of the girls who 
was considered advanced enough to add to any 
of the performances. 

The Wainwrights were among the latest ar- 
rivals, an awkwardness having arisen in the 
crack of Gertrude’s waistband as she sneezed 
on her way downstairs. It took a little time 
to rectify this catastrophe, during which Mr. 
Wain wright paced the hall like a caged lion, 
and his wife endeavoured to soothe and divert 
him after the manner of all wise wives whose 
husbands somebody is keeping waiting. 

“ Why cannot girls have their clothes fastened 
on with decent buttons and tapes ? ” fumed the 
draper. “There are surely plenty of such-like 
on the premises ! ” 

“ Oh, papa ! what a coarse allusion ! ” exclaimed 
his wife reprovingly. “But I think dear Ger- 
trude has filled out a bit since she wore her 
evening frock, and a sneeze is always trying, 
even in only one’s Sunday best.” 

“ I have no patience with girls being trussed 
up like fowls that are ready for cooking,” contin- 
ued Mr. Wain wright crossly. “ I have a great 
mind to go on and leave her to walk. I expect a 


PEIZE DAYS 




lot of folks are waiting for this fly when it has 
taken ns.” 

“ She is just coming,’’ said her mother sooth- 
ingly. “Make haste, Gertrude. Papa is tired 
of waiting.” 

Now the elder Miss Wain wright possessed cer- 
tain undeniable attractions. In face she exactly 
resembled a twopenny china doll, and we all 
know that such are blessed with glossy black 
hair, and bright dark eyes, as well as unimpeach- 
able red and white complexions. She also had 
plenty to say for herself, and a not ugly, though 
perhaps slightly noisy laugh, which tended to 
make her a cheerful companion. Her mind, after 
she had entered her twenties, became possessed 
with the one idea of matrimony, and the present 
person she had fixed upon as suitable to fill her 
vacant situation was David Carpenter. Indeed 
Winstow could not boast of many marriageable 
men, and, as Gertrude had confided in a friend, 
“ it looked as if David Carpenter would have to 
be Hobson’s choice.” 

Of these intentions the Grammar School mas- 
ter was entirely ignorant. The thought of marry- 
ing had never entered his head ; indeed, his sis- 
ter’s presence in his home had induced him to 
think of life as more restful without permanent 


32 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


feminine companionship, and even as an ac- 
quaintance Miss Wain wright appeared to him 
singularly distasteful. But of this she also was 
ignorant. 

“ How hot these rooms are ! ” she said to him 
with a sigh. “Don’t you think it would be 
cooler in the garden, Mr. Carpenter — and nicer ? ” 
she added coquettishly. 

“ Yes,” answered David, and then the baldness 
of his reply made him uncomfortable. “Much 
cooler,” he repeated lamely. 

“How sweet the castle looks in the moon- 
light ! ” she remarked presently. “ And to make 
it perfect we ought to hear the bubbling river. 
Hush ! How silent it is ! ” 

“ The tide is up,” said David shortly. 

“ Do you know, Mr. Carpenter,” and Gertrude 
looked up at him archly, “ I love the moonlight, 
only I cannot bear to be in it alone.” 

“ No?” 

“ It always has such an effect on my spirits. I 
am very sensitive, you know, and easily upset.” 

David glanced at her very apple-like cheek, 
and bright beady-black eyes with wonder. She 
always seemed to him the very opposite of sensi- 
tive. 

“ Naughty man ! ” she exclaimed, tapping his 


PEIZE DAYS 


33 


arm with a crackly satin fan. “ To look at me 
so ! ” 

“ 1 beg your pardon ! ” he exclaimed in dis- 
tress. 

“ I will forgive you this once,” she continued 
with a giggle, “but you must give over, you 
really must, or I shall have to go indoors. 
Mamma is so particular.” 

David wondered whatever she could be talking 
about, and then Gertrude went on : 

“ It must be lonely for you living up so far out 
of the town,” with a look which she intended to 
indicate how pleased she should be to enliven his 
solitude. 

“ I have my sister, and besides I am very little 
at home.” 

“ Oh ! we all know what a sister is ! So dif- 
ferent from — well, other things,” and she laughed 
coyly. 

David could not think of anything to say, so, 
being a man, he did not say it. 

“ You must long for a companion,” she con- 
tinued. 

“ No,” he replied slowly. “ I am quite content.” 
And then the thought of his unrestful home 
falsified his words, and he added, “At least, if 
I am not that, I get on as well as other fellows.” 


34 THE WOELD AND WINSTOW 


“ Fie, fie ! Mr. Carpenter ! ” and Gertrude 
shook a warning finger at him, “ you are letting 
pussy out of the bag. But you will find some- 
thing or somebody to make you quite content 
one of these days, never fear.” 

“Would you like anything to eat?” asked 
David in desperation, hoping he might thereby 
escape ; and then Georgina’s voice was heard : 

“ David, David ! Where are you ? Come in 
immediately,” and for once he was glad of his 
sister’s interference. 

“My boy has done well this year,” said Mr. 
Wain wright, whom he joined on the outskirts of 
the drawing-room. 

“ He has, indeed ; ” and David’s face bright- 
ened as he absently helped himself to a dried 
sandwich, which, owing to domestic zealousness, 
had been cut many hours, and many warm hours, 
previously. “ I expect great things of Merton.” 

“He is a clever lad,” exclaimed his father 
proudly. “ And when I christened him after 
my old uncle Merton as a kind of reward for 
taking me into partnership, I hoped that he 
might grow up with a head on his shoulders.” 

“ There is no doubt about that ; you and all 
of us will be very proud of him some day.” 

“ I don’t hold with going to college myself,” 


PHIZE DAYS 


35 


Mr. Wainwright continued; “but if the lad’s 
set on it, and can win the wherewithal, it is not 
for me or his mother to raise any objection.” 

“ It would be a great pity if you did,” inter- 
rupted David. He was thinking of the wonder- 
ful joy of those first days of his at Oxford, 
before he found out that he was not brilliant as 
other men, but destined only for the honourless 
low-lying levels of life. Still David, though 
personally disappointed, was selfless enough to 
glory in the exploits of others, and to rejoice 
with a quiet exhilaration in the rare atmosphere 
of culture and scholarship which hangs round 
the ancient city like the afterglow of a sun that 
has set. Once he had dreamed of honours ; but 
he worked slowly, and the time only brought him 
a pass. He had never spoken of his degree since, 
and it cut like a whip when Georgina, accord- 
ing to her wont, reminded him continually of it. 

“ My word, David ! ” remarked that lady with 
emphasis, as they started on their homeward 
way. “ A nice talk there will be about you and 
Gertrude Wain wright to-morrow.” 

“ Talk ! What about ? ” And her brother 
looked surprised. 

“ Sitting in the garden alone in the moonlight. 
How could you be so indiscreet ? ” 


36 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ I could not help it,” he replied simply. 

‘‘Not help it, forsooth! You are a very six- 
year-old for helplessness, David. I suppose you 
will say you could not help it when you are up 
for breach of promise.” 

David wiped his brow in a sudden heat. 

“I cannot imagine what you are talking 
about, Georgina,” he exclaimed hoarsely. But 
he could. 

“ You must take better care of yourself,” con- 
tinued his sister. “ I never saw such a forward 
minx as that Wainwright girl in all my life.” 

“But, Georgina,” and his voice rang with a 
pleading anxiety, “ surely you were only joking 
when you spoke about such an awful thing as a 
— a breach of promise ? ” 

“ There will be no more joking when it comes 
to that, I can tell you,” she replied ruthlessly. 

And then David’s spirit rose. 

“ Good heavens ! I will never speak to the 
girl again ! ” he muttered fiercely. And though 
he was frequently obliged to do so, it was not 
long before Gertrude Wainwright confided in 
one, Lucy Holt, that she would not have David 
Carpenter as a gift — “ not if you were to crown 
her,” an improviso which was manifestly impos- 
sible to occur. 


CHAPTER III 


THRESHOLDS 

Year after year went by, and the prize days, 
both at the Grammar and Miss Paterson’s 
schools, regularly rolled round, with no percep- 
tible difference, except in the growing of the 
children as they ran up their teens and came 
within sight of the threshold of a wider life. 
Merton "Wainwright carried all before him, and 
finally bore the school-scholarship in triumph to 
Oxford. And Ursula Grey grew up after him as 
quickly as she could — toiling through many fail- 
ures and few successes, forgetting the anguish of 
the many in the joy of the few. The same 
brave, uncomplaining spirit, and the same weak, 
often-suffering body, fought their incessant battle 
up through her growing years, till womanhood 
touched with sweeter lines her small, sad face ; 
and the unselfish care and tender sympathy for 
others, which her lot had taught her so young, 
shone in the depths of her large grey eyes, and 
made her almost beautiful. Her duty towards 

her father was the ruling passion of her life, and 
37 


38 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


her friendship and admiration for Merton Wain- 
wright its recreation. The ordinary aspects of 
good daughterhood were far too limited for her 
ideals. She felt how fearfully her father’s life 
had been blighted by the death of his wife, and 
she read into his thin character the depth of grief 
and loss which her own vivid sensibilities outlined 
— and so with infinite patience she bore his irrita- 
bility, imagining that it was but the fretting of 
a wounded spirit ; with unfailing tenderness she 
sympathised with all his petty aches and pains, 
remembering that her mother would never have 
failed to do so; and with untiring effort she 
strove to fill the empty place in his life, sharing 
responsibilities which were too heavy for her 
girlish shoulders, and trying to bring what sun- 
shine she could into his clouded home. And he, 
with the selfishness of a shallow nature, accepted 
all this as his right, and never gave a thought to 
its cost. He was injured with Providence for 
the way he had been treated, and so felt he did 
well to complain. Ursula was his only child, and 
he took for granted that he had a right to all she 
could possibly give him, and also was often ag- 
grieved that she could not give more. He was 
puny and rather delicate, and so thought much 
about his own health, with an intolerance of any 


THRESHOLDS 


39 


one else’s ailments which such poaching on his 
particular preserves as an invalid surely deserved. 
So by looking continually into little, mean 
thoughts and feelings, Frederick Grey himself 
gre w smaller and more mean ; while Ursula, with 
a pathetic powerlessness to reach the heights of 
more than filial dutifulness, which she had 
painted for herself up in the clouds, yet gradually 
grew up towards that higher ideal to which all 
virtues are but stepping stones, and by her striv- 
ings after an impossibility she came nearer to 
that possibility of daughterhood which is as the 
polished corners of the temple. 

But for the slow procession which is ever mov- 
ing onward from childhood’s play to old age 
peace, Winstow was unaltered and unspoiled. A 
few years could write little change on the monu- 
ment of centuries — and the same sunshine which 
comes with every summer, lit up its hills, was re- 
flected in its river, and painted with a glittering 
line the far-off horizon of the sea. The same soft 
rainy winds blew up from the west, brought 
down the russet leaves, and carpeted the country 
with a cloth of gold. And the people, too, who 
had once passed the rubicon which made them 
men and women, seemed to stand still together 
with the rest of the Winstow world. A few grey 


40 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


hairs among Georgina Carpenter’s black plaits, 
a few deep lines on David’s patient face. A few 
more wrinkles cut across Mrs. Wainwright’s 
ample forehead, a little more knowledge in her 
daughter’s empty head. Changes too small for 
an outsider to take note of — but milestones, 
nevertheless, upon that road which seemed so 
long in childhood’s days, so short when once we 
leave off playing by the wayside, and take our 
place in the marching ranks of the great army of 
life. 

“Ursula!” called Mr. Grey from the sitting- 
room where he was imprisoned by an attack of 
gout, “ bring me my medicine, will you ? Thank 
you, my dear, and just run upstairs for those 
papers I left in my bedroom — those I was look- 
ing at last night. But move this cushion first. 
You cannot imagine how painful it is to be such 
a prisoner, and to such an active man as myself.” 

“Oh yes, daddy, I can,” and the girl’s voice 
rang pleasantly. “ I am so sorry for you, dear.” 

Mr. Grey put on his spectacles. “ Make haste 
for I want those papers, Ursula. Yl;, these are 
not the right ones,” he exclaimed, querulously, as 
she came breathlessly back with a packet. “ I 
must have left them in my coat pocket. Look 
in my overcoat which is in the hall, and if they 


THRESHOLDS 


41 


are not there, run up again and look in the chest 
of drawers.” 

“Yes, father. Are not these the ones you 
want ? ” As after having drawn both places 
blank she opened his writing desk. 

“ Yes, yes, thank you ! ” he replied fussily. 
“ How bring the ink near and make me a fresh 
pen. And I want my seal. I think I left it on 
my dressing-table.” 

So Ursula ran up and downstairs incessantly on 
her father’s behests, and Mr. Grey was utterly 
unconscious of how much trouble he gave, which 
is the way with many invalids. 

“ I wish I was not tired enough to feel cross,” 
she thought to herself as she sank down on to an 
easy chair at last. “I can help showing it, of 
course, and I think I generally do. But I ought 
to help feeling it.” And a little pucker gathered 
between her eyebrows. 

“ My dear,” remarked Mr. Grey, “ I do not like 
to see you sitting idle. It is a bad habit for 
young people.” 

Ursula picked up her knitting without a word. 

“ You see,” continued her father, “ now that you 
are grown up I feel it incumbent on me to remind 
you that life is made up of work instead of play. 
You must put away childish things, Ursula, and 


42 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


turn your attention to earning the remuneration 
which is necessary for the maintenance of our 
home here.” 

“Are we poorer than we used to be ?” the girl 
asked quickly, wondering what fresh economies 
she could possibly practise. 

“My health,” continued Mr. Grey, “is not 
what it used to be. In fact, I am a broken- 
down man, and I need more rest. Under these 
circumstances my business must of necessity de- 
cline ; indeed, lately it has done so steadily, and 
I have no power to prevent it. Therefore, Ur- 
sula, w r e must seek other sources of income to 
augment the little we can confidently expect 
that I shall be able to earn.” 

“ There is not much that a girl can do,” said 
Ursula slowly. 

“ Surely you would not wish to see my declin- 
ing years robbed of the few comforts that lessen 
the burden of my ill-health ? ” asked her father 
in an aggrieved tone. 

“ Oh, no, daddy dear ; I was only wondering 
how much I should be able to earn to help you.” 
And the girl’s spirits rose again at the call of his 
need, and she forgot how tired she was in the 
glow of this new excitement. 

“ I may not long be here,” continued Mr. Grey 


THRESHOLDS 


43 


in doleful tones, “but that makes it only the 
more necessary for you to be doing something 
on your own account, as when I am gone your 
home will be gone too.” 

“You must not talk like that,” interrupted 
Ursula, “for you are quite young still, father.” 

“Age is nothing when compared with ill- 
health to which I have been for so long a vic- 
tim. Your future is a great burden to me, 
Ursula.” 

“ Don’t worry about it,” said the girl sooth- 
ingly. “ I have always been able to look after 
myself, you know, dear.” 

“You speak as if you had had to look after 
yourself,” interposed Mr. Grey. “ That is a very 
painful insinuation to me, Ursula, who have al- 
ways been such a kind, indulgent father, and 
you will be sorry for having said it when I am 
gone and you have to stand alone.” 

“ Oh, you know I did not mean that.” And 
Ursula laid her cheek against his coat sleeve. 
“We have always pulled together, you and I. 
But I did not want you to be anxious or 
bothered.” 

“As if I could help it. You young people are 
so feckless. But when I am laid by, as I have 
been these last few days, I am not able to keep 


44 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


my thoughts from serious considerations, as you 
would do. I am obliged to consider the future, 
though it is worry enough, heaven knows. To 
think that I, who am descended from that noble 
family of the Greys of Leyswood, should have 
to worry about ways and means ! It is sicken- 
ing. But that is the way of the world in these 
dreadful democratic days. The good old fami- 
lies are trampled under foot, and the upstarts 
have all the prizes. I wish you had been a boy, 
Ursula.” 

“ Then who would have knitted your socks, 
and made your beef tea?” laughed the girl. 
“ No, daddy, we can look after each other best 
as we are.” 

“ You are too light-hearted, my child. It is a 
serious fault.” 

“ Good spirits are half the battle, you know. 
Don’t be depressed, dear.” 

“Ah, it is different for you who are young 
and strong ; ” and her father sighed deeply. It 
had never struck him that the least strong per- 
son in his household was Ursula herself, and that 
she was already old in care and responsibility. 
But it had for so long been her business to cheer 
and comfort her father that it had become her 
second nature. She had such strong ideas of 


THRESHOLDS 


45 


duty, and she meant to do hers even if she died 
in the attempt. So do we resolve in the early 
days of life, not knowing that to live in the at- 
tempt is the more common and perhaps harder 
task to which we shall be called. The ruling 
power in Ursula’s mind was duty, but it was 
a stern master nevertheless. She struggled to 
obey it, and let nothing hide it from her, but 
she felt it made life very hard and tiring. Her 
idea of religion was embodied in it, and she 
knew nothing of the green pastures and still 
waters in the country which God’s children call 
their home. Because of this duty to her father 
she checked each petulant word which rose to 
her lips at his hasty and narrow judgments ; 
stifled every complaint when he worked her be- 
yond her strength ; and more than these, felt 
real affection for him because she was his daugh- 
ter. And now, when he spoke of a new duty in 
the way of adding to their income, she was, as 
usual, ready to obey the call. But of aught 
besides duty Ursula had had little experience. 
Life was always lesson-time with her, and from 
a child she had ever been eager to learn her 
lessons well. 

“It must be something that will not take 
me altogether away from home,” she observed 


46 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


thoughtfully, “because of you. What do you 
suggest, father?” 

“You had better consult Georgina Carpenter, 
my dear. She is a great authority on woman’s 
work.” 

Ursula felt a sudden flash of impatience. She 
did not like Georgina, and she always resented 
her interference. 

“ Georgina,” continued Mr. Grey, “ is a woman 
in whom I feel the greatest confidence. I ad! 
mire the strength and vigour of both her body 
and mind.” 

“ I can’t bear people who have never been ill,” 
exclaimed Ursula. 

“Do not let me hear you use again so strong 
an expression as ‘ can’t bear,’ ” remarked her 
father severely, “ especially when applied to one 
of my friends.” 

The girl felt that an apology was her duty, 
but she did so dislike Georgina. However, ac- 
cording to her custom, duty prevailed, and she 
said quietly : 

“ I am sorry, father, if I vexed you ; but some- 
how Georgina never understands me. I feel she 
disapproves of me whatever I do.” 

“Of course she understands you,” he replied 
testily — it never having struck him that there 


THRESHOLDS 


47 


was anything below the surface in Ursula to 
understand. “ And you should get out of the 
way of forming wrong and harsh judgments of 
people, Ursula. Georgina has your welfare very 
much at heart. She was only reminding me the 
other day how bad it is for girls to have noth- 
ing to do as they grow older, and indeed sug- 
gested to me the advisability of your earning 
something towards your own support.” 

Ursula bit her lip lest she should reply in- 
dignantly. 

“ Of course it is very painful to me,” continued 
Mr. Grey, “ to feel that a daughter of mine, who 
bears so distinguished a name, should have to 
work for pecuniary considerations. I said so to 
Georgina, and she was most sympathetic, and 
comforted me with the assurance that noble 
birth cannot be touched by the injustice of cir- 
cumstances ; and that you would still be Ursula 
Grey, even though you might be a govern- 
ess or working in any way for your living. 
The Carpenters are well connected themselves, 
Ursula ? ” 

“ I dare say,” replied the girl listlessly. 

“ Georgina brought me an old book which be- 
longs to her brother, and which interested me 
extremely. It is a county history, and tells how 


48 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


there was a David Carpenter in the seventeenth 
century, who was quite a man of note. Of 
course the Greys date further back. Georgina 
said she would look through another of the 
volumes which might make mention of Leys- 
wood, and let me have it. Oh! and I forgot. 
She was speaking about your health, too, Ursula. 
She thinks you do not take enough exercise, and 
that gives you such a washed-out appearance.” 

“ I take as much as I can,” pleaded the girl, 
“ but Georgina doesn’t know what it means to 
feel tired.” 

“But it is not right for young people to be 
feeling this and that,” continued her father, re- 
provingly, “and you must not give way to it, 
Ursula. At your age I never thought about 
such a thing as being tired. And Georgina says 
that it is a great danger in this generation letting 
the young people give way to every little sensa- 
tion instead of hardening themselves into strong 
men and women.” 

Tears filled the girl’s eyes. She tried so hard 
to hide her weakness, and to never let her con- 
stant suffering and want of strength impair her 
usefulness, or even be suspected in her daily life. 
And it was all for her father’s sake, which made 
Georgina’s accusations doubly hard from his lips. 


THRESHOLDS 


49 


“There is no need for yon to be sulky,” he 
said querulously. “ Most young people dislike 
being told of their faults, but it is for their 
good.” 

Ursula, who had never been sulky in her life, 
felt the hopelessness of any attempt at explana- 
tion. Instead she said with a sad gentleness : 

“ Do you feel as if you would be able to fancy 
a little supper, daddy? You ate nothing at tea, 
you know.” 

Mr. Grey brightened up; the subject inter- 
ested him, for there was something equally 
pleasant in the recollection of a past poor appe- 
tite and a present one which might yield to 
tempting. 

“ What are you going to give me, my dear ? ” 

“ I will make an omelette. That is both light 
and nourishing.” And Ursula hurried into the 
kitchen, for their domestic was not equal to in- 
valid cookery. 

It was late that night before Ursula was free 
to go to bed. The strain of the day's work was 
heavy on her, but the strain of keeping up a con- 
versation which would neither irritate nor bore 
her father was heavier still. While his foot was 
bad he was unable to go to his office, and so 
Ursula had him on her hands the whole day 


50 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


through. It was days such as these that brought 
into the girl’s heart a great longing for that 
mother who went away before her little daugh- 
ter knew how much she wanted her. She im- 
agined that fair ideal, which is so glad a reality 
in countless homes, of the sweet womanly spirit 
which smoothes away all the difficulties, and 
clears up all the misunderstandings, and holds 
the help which all the needs demand. She 
treasured the picture of the precious presence of 
motherhood which so many other happier chil- 
dren see. And there was nothing which Ursula 
did not believe would have been all right if only 
her mother had been there. Sad it is for those 
who yearn as she did for the great gift of mother 
love, but infinitely sadder is it when the mother 
is there and yet the home is bereft of that ideal 
of motherhood, which is happily so much more 
often realised than any other ; but when it fails 
leaves a great sore gap both in fact and in fancy, 
which nothing else can ever fill. 

So as the girl entered her bare little bedroom, 
where a hard- won examination certificate was 
the one ornament, she felt that her life was 
desolate, and the old longing came sweeping 
over her again as it had been wont to do ever 
since she began to grow up, for a mother or 


THEESHOLDS 


51 


even sister of her own. The easy understanding 
of womenkind in the countless little trials and 
vexations of everyday life, as well as for the 
deeper bond of a true friendship within the 
sacred circle of home. So she opened her win- 
dow in an inexplicable yearning for some one or 
something outside herself, stretching out empty 
arms to the great hollow of darkness, and know- 
ing nothing of the help that is not far from any 
one of us. The cold, pale moon gliding out from 
behind a heavy cloud suddenly frosted the land- 
scape and lit up the waters of the distant estuary 
till they gleamed as a band of steel. The keen 
February air rushed in and struck her face and 
cheek with its sharp breath, but it was a deeper 
cold than that of outside which made her shiver 
through and through. Her sorrowful eyes roved 
round the whole, wide, grey outlook, but there 
was no sign of colour, or of comfort, or of warmth. 
It looked like a different world to that which 
glowed in sunset beauty, or slept in summer 
peace, and its chill influence touched her sensi- 
tive soul with an icy hand, and whispered in- 
coherent messages of misery and gloom. 

“ I wish I had somebody to help me ! ” she 
sighed, and a tear fell on the window-sill. 
“ Somebody who would understand. Father is 


52 THE WORLD AND WIHSTOW 


very good, of course, but he likes me to talk to 
and take care of him, and oh ! I want somebody 
who will talk with and take care of me. I am 
so young, and yet so tired. I remember when I 
was very little somebody used to carry me up to 
bed and undress me without my knowing, and it 
was all cosy warm firelight, and I was so sleepy. 
I wish,” and the girl’s eyes were filled with 
the hunger of her poor starved soul, “ I wish I 
could have that old, dear, ‘comfy’ feeling once 
again ! ” 

The silence of the night borne on the still 
breath of an east wind filled her room. The 
candle flickered in the socket, and the boards 
creaked, and Ursula felt for the moment utterly 
alone. And then with the rush of reaction there 
came that whisper of hope which is but the voice 
of our guardian angel. A message of promise 
which we cannot define and therefore we call it 
hope, but it is more than that in fact. It is the 
blessed assurance of what is, rather than what 
shall be, only we are blind who shall one day 
see. 

And this hope — she hardly knew of what — 
spread over her whole being, as the sweeping 
sunshine wings its way across a whole shadow- 
land of cloud. The throb of life which seems to 


THRESHOLDS 


53 


sleep under the stars woke up again in her heart 
and beat strongly with the vigour of spring ; and 
Ursula, in her ignorant wandering, drew near to 
the eternal and felt the uplifting rapture of its 
touch. Then, because that which is dearest and 
best on earth is most closely linked with the 
beauty and joy of heaven, the girl’s mind filled 
with many dear, familiar pictures, which will al- 
ways be our comfort till our sight is strong 
enough for beatific visions. Pictures of homely 
happiness, and sunny days, and dreams of love. 
Where did these guardian angels of ours learn 
their knowledge of our human hearts, unless in 
the days when they, too, were with us in the 
bonds of love on earth ? In all the hosts of 
heaven could any one have known so well how 
to comfort Ursula as her mother did just then ? 
Inexplicable mystery, which those who need it 
not throw on one side as past belief! But to 
those whose hearts are torn in two, and whose 
treasure is laid up in heaven, there comes this 
blessed comfort for those who mourn, and with 
eyes washed clear by many tears they look up 
and see that they already “ are come unto Mount 
Sion, and unto the city of the living God ” ; “ to 
an innumerable company of angels,” and “ to the 
spirits of just men made perfect.” 


54 THE WOULD AND WIUSTOW 


It was with a smile on her lips that at last 
Ursula fell asleep. And with the morning came 
the new glad life of another day, and the true 
perspective which readjusts the distorted shapes 
of thought which loom so large in the darkness. 
The yellow light of morning lay low above the 
distant hills, and the clean, cold wind from which 
all bitterness had faded, leaving only its fresh- 
ness behind, blew across the low-lying meadow- 
land and brought the sweet smell of the spring- 
ing earth right into the streets and houses of the 
little town. The breakfast-table lookeci smiling 
in its white cloth and shining silver, as breakfast- 
tables do when they greet us hungry and cold, 
and it had a special welcome for Ursula in the 
fat letter it held beside her plate. 

Merton Wainwright’s Oxford days were over, 
and had ended in highest honours, and now he 
had to tell her of another and even greater suc- 
cess. He had passed highest into the Civil Serv- 
ice, and so won a long-coveted position in one of 
the government offices. Merton’s letters were 
just like himself — neither better nor worse, but 
just full of his own strong personality, and alive 
with a regular jumble of thoughts and words and 
wishes. His letter seemed to light up the whole 
room from out of its thick square envelope. We 


THEESHOLDS 


55 


have all known and loved such letters, and lived 
on them whole, happy days. Ursula rejoiced 
with Merton’s joy, and caught the exhilaration 
of his excitement, entering into all his plans and 
thoughts. They had kept up their childish 
friendship, and it had grown with their growing 
years. The refinements of Oxford had lifted 
Merton above his solid, unattractive home, and 
set him at a far distance from the showy, com- 
mon sisters there. But it had taught him to ap- 
preciate Ursula more and more. To admire the 
well-bred pluck which brought her bravely 
through so many storms ; to believe in the per- 
fect taste which was her never-failing instinct ; 
to confide in the understanding sympathy which 
begins in good manners but does not end this side 
Heaven. So the first letter about this greatest 
success was written to her, and Ursula smiled, as 
many happy women have done before her, in the 
knowledge that it was to her that he had written 
first. 

All the day’s duties were tinged with rose- 
colour because of that letter the postman had 
brought. Merton would do great things in his 
new life, and rise to great heights in the new 
world of his profession, and win great prizes in 
the coming years. And what was better still he 


56 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


was coming home to Winstow the following 
week, to tell Ursula all about it. 

In the afternoon she walked up to see Georgina 
Carpenter, according to her father’s wishes. 

It was a bright spring day, when the roads are 
whitened with dust, and the red brown woods 
stand out against the indigo distances. When 
the sunshine is cold and clear, and the evergreens 
a glossier green than usual in the pale yellow 
sheen of the sun. But the air was light and 
keen, and it filled Ursula with a quick, fleeting 
power of feeling strong and walking fast. The 
hill seemed short, and the roadside lined with 
plans and pictures of how Merton would get on, 
and how she would never fail him, but grow, too, 
by work and thought, and many books, so that 
he should always find in her a companion as well 
as a friend. She would earn money, and she did 
not mind now that Georgina should counsel her, 
and with it buy all that she should need to keep 
Merton pleased with her. So a thousand castles 
in the air rose up and crowned the hilltops, and 
the far-distant country on the other side of the 
channel gave her that sense of wideness that we 
want when any big design or feeling fills our 
minds. 

Georgina Carpenter sat at her writing-table, 


THRESHOLDS 


57 


and the room smelt of business and red tape. 
Ursula could never remember Georgina’s looking 
any different, but the big handsome face was 
harder, and the lines more determined than when 
Miss Carpenter first undertook to discipline the 
world. 

She had chosen for herself this thankless task, 
and her views grew sterner and her ways more 
managing as she deliberately set herself to walk 
in so unlovely a path. It may be well for man- 
kind to be disciplined, but it is not well to be the 
woman who turns her world into a dame school, 
and administers her petty justice therein with 
the rod of vigorous interference or a sharp 
tongue. But the improvement of David’s char- 
acter and the suppression of his undoubted faults 
seemed curiously to Georgina to be her work 
rather than the amelioration of her own char- 
acter and the mending of her own misdoings — a 
mistake which is not seldom made in ordinary 
domestic life. 

She did not rise when Ursula entered, for she 
was usually too busy to be well-mannered. 

“ How do you do ? Wait a moment,” she re- 
marked brusquely, “ I am just finishing the 
proofs of a pamphlet which must go by to-night’s 
post; 'but I will attend to you directly.” 


58 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


Ursula wandered to the window. 

“ Oh, there is Mr. Carpenter ! ” she exclaimed, 
“does he know about Merton, I wonder? I 
must go and tell him.” 

“ Stop ! ” cried Georgina hastily. “ You had 
better not disturb him, Ursula. He has gone 
out for a quiet hour in the garden after his 
school work, and said that he was on no account 
to be interrupted.” 

“But he would be so pleased to hear how 
splendidly Merton has done,” persisted Ursula, 
fighting a little at Georgina’s management. 

“I will tell him directly he comes in,” con- 
tinued that lady in her most determined voice ; 
“ but I cannot allow his orders to be disobeyed. 
He would be exceedingly angry.” 

Ursula half smiled at the idea of David Car- 
penter’s being “exceedingly angry” with any 
one. He was just the same kind, silent man 
that he used to be, only now Ursula was grown 
up he was still more shy of her than he was in 
her childhood’s days. It was a pity, Ursula felt, 
because she knew that he was both nice and 
good, and she would have liked to be friendly 
with him, only it was impossible. For when 
Georgina’s fencing round her brother was broken 
down there was still the wall of his own reserve 


THRESHOLDS 


59 


which shut him in from all intimate companion- 
ship. 

Sometimes the girl wondered whether it was 
because he did not like her that he kept her at 
so great a distance, and then she forgot to think 
about him at all in the hurrying interests of 
Merton’s friendship and all the vivid feeling of 
her own life. It was only at such moments as 
these, when she stood idly watching him through 
a window, that Ursula thought at all of David 
Carpenter. 

She saw him pacing up and down the garden 
path, occasionally stopping to catch some bird’s 
whistle, and to mimic it with a true note. She 
watched him stoop to stroke the cat as it rubbed 
up against his leg, and noticed that his grave 
face lighted up with a smile at the shy approach 
of the young magpie which was one of his pets. 
He was so big and strong, though his limbs hung 
badly and his shoulders slightly stooped, and 
Ursula wondered how any one so powerful as he 
looked could stand Georgina’s incessant interfer- 
ence. She would not if she were a strong man 
instead of a little weak girl, and the irritation 
against that lady rose afresh as she felt she had 
a right to go and tell his old master the good 
news of Merton’s success. She was so proud of 


60 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


it, and so eager to tell of it, especially to one 
who would appreciate it as much as David 
would. What right had Georgina to prevent 
her? Only the right of a disagreeable temper 
and a managing disposition, but few things and 
fewer people can fight against such a right. It 
was the feeling of impotence as well as indigna- 
tion which welled up in Ursula’s spirit, and 
caused her to chafe with unusual impatience. 
There are few people who possess the power of 
irritation to such an extent as did Georgina Car- 
penter — and happily there are not very many 
Georgina Carpenters in the world. 

“And now, tell me, child, what it is you 
want ! ” she exclaimed, with a postage stamp be- 
tween her lips, and the smell of a smouldering 
candle, by the help of which she had sealed her 
parcel, pervading the room. 

“ I want something to do,” said Ursula turning 
round with a start. Georgina nodded her head. 
She was not so ignorant of the management of 
the Greys’ finances as Ursula imagined. Mr. 
Grey had unlimited confidence in Georgina, and 
he liked talking with, as well as listening to 
her. 

“What can you do?” she asked, coming 
straight to the point as usual. 


THRESHOLDS 


61 


“Oh, I suppose most things,” replied the girl 
vaguely. 

“ I should suppose hardly anything,” continued 
Georgina reprovingly. “You can’t write short- 
hand, or type- write, or cook, or nurse, or teach, 
except in the most elementary way.” 

“ I could teach, I think,” interrupted Ursula. 
“ I passed the senior Oxford, you know, and took 
honours in literature and Latin.” 

“ Knowing a thing is one thing and teaching 
it is another,” remarked her mentor tritely. 
“ You are not old enough or dignified enough 
for a schoolmistress. Indeed, that childish man- 
ner and face are very much against you.” 

“ I am not childish,” the girl interposed. “ I 
wish to heaven I could be ! ” and she sighed 
slightly. 

Georgina looked up sharply. 

“Young women of over twenty years of age 
ought to have done with such nonsense as child- 
ish feelings — I have no patience with you, Ursula, 
talking like that, with the battle of life before 
you.” 

“ I am ready enough for the battle,” and Ur- 
sula spoke a little haughtily ; “ indeed I enlisted 
for it long enough ago.” 

“ And it is time you were supporting yourself 


62 THE WORLD AND W1NSTOW 


now,” continued Miss Carpenter, taking no notice 
of the interruption, “ for your poor father cannot 
stand any extra burden.” 

Ursula’s eyes flashed, and, but for that stern 
sense of duty which was always clasped round 
her heart, she would have answered indignantly. 

“ I think father is better than he used to be,” 
she answered slowly, but there was fire under- 
neath her voice. 

“He needs to be saved,” said Georgina sin- 
cerely, and Ursula’s face softened. 

“ I want to save him,” she answered. “ I am 
always trying to do so. For it is so hard to be 
ailing continually, so specially hard for a man.” 

“ It is hard enough for a man of your father’s 
family and refinement to be tied down to the 
uncongenial work and society of a little country 
town.” 

Georgina was quite ready to sympathise with 
Mr. Grey, but she never took account of ill- 
health. It was one of those abnormal develop- 
ments which never entered her scheme of thought 
or life. She regarded it, at the bottom of her 
heart, as unpleasant in the old, and blameworthy 
in the young. She could do her duty in the way 
of dispensing medicines or even making poultices, 
but the task disgusted her, and she knew nothing 


THRESHOLDS 


63 


of that tender pity for ail suffering which is to 
be found in almost every woman’s nature. David 
had never been ill for a day in his life, and this 
she felt was due more to her judicious training 
than to any accident of constitution or strength. 
And as for herself, she would have felt disgraced 
for life if ever she had sunk so low as taking her 
breakfast in bed. 

“ But he has some nice friends here, and many 
old ones,” argued Ursula, “ and that means much, 
even in a country town.” 

“Nonsense. There are the Wain wrights — 
good enough people in their way, but no com- 
panions for your father. But now to return to 
business. You might learn indexing or type- 
writing,” observed Georgina meditatively, “but 
that would entail living in London, and you 
cannot be spared from home at present,” she 
added, thinking aloud. But Ursula’s thoughts 
had rushed off in mad haste at the idea of going 
to London to work as Merton was to do. She 
did not realise how many different worlds there 
are in that great metropolis, and how far away 
the toiling work-girl would be from the govern- 
ment clerk. It was a pleasant thought, and it 
exhilarated and diverted her. To be always 
within reach of Merton was one of her largest 


64 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


castles, for as yet those castles had never built 
up the structure of a home. 

“But perhaps I might go to London, some 
day ? ” she queried eagerly, “ and learn big 
things ? Only,” and her voice suddenly dropped 
its tone, “I must do something now. What is 
there, Miss Carpenter ? ” 

Now Georgina was not too old for the build- 
ing of castles either. Who of us ever is, until 
just for the moment when we first find a real 
castle of our own ? The venerable statesman 
builds them as well as the ambitious schoolboy, 
the tired mother perhaps as often as the dreamy 
girl. Only as we grow older our castles have 
more rooms in them, and we want to fill them 
with the many people whose lives, and interests, 
and affections we share. A foolish and fantastic 
employment our practical selves may tell us, but 
perhaps for once our practical selves may not be 
all-wise in trying to drag our eyes and thoughts 
down to the material and lucrative and earthly, 
instead of letting them mount up on wings as 
eagles through the visionary castles of hope and 
idealism to the gates of the eternal city of God. 

Georgina’s spirit was aggressive and manag- 
ing, and her voice sharp and rasping, but deep 
down underneath it all, where the true self is 


THRESHOLDS 


65 


hid, there was a longing in her lonely soul for 
something, she hardly knew what, that would 
be what the children call her “ very own” She 
knew that her brother did not really love her, 
and she would have died rather than let it be 
suspected how much she cared for him. Her 
home was really his, and she but a lodger, 
though she ruled it with a rod of iron. The 
executive work with which she filled her time 
and mind was cold work, and her ambitions 
were all stern and ugly ones with which to 
crown a woman’s life. But far away on the 
distant horizon line she saw the outline of what 
might be a castle for her — and secretly, and 
half ashamed at so much weakness, she added 
a meagre little heap of material for building 
every now and then. Its form could boast no 
graceful battlements or stately towers, but was 
just a plain small house at the edge of Winstow, 
in which a fussy little man was always calling 
aloud for the attention she felt she had to give. 
David did not really want her assistance, she 
knew, but she never meant to spare him as long 
as she had breath and strength. She had not 
been trained to minister to the wants of any of 
the great classes of need which are to be found 
in all charitable institutions. So her powers had 


66 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


run to seed and grown up rough and wild ; and 
Georgina was one of those women who may 
know of a fault without ever dreaming of cor- 
recting it. She knew she was hard and stern 
and forbidding, and that was the end of it — she 
was. But she also knew that she was not very 
happy, and she dreamed of days when she might 
be so, with a home of her own to manage, and a 
husband of her own to reform. Strange pic- 
tures mean happiness to such twisted natures as 
Georgina’s. 

“There is precious little such a girl as you 
can do,” continued Miss Carpenter, “for your 
father’s position must be considered. And Miss 
Paterson’s education is nothing nowadays when 
governesses want certificates. Oh, here is my 
brother ! ” as he walked*up and opened the French 
window which opened on to their tiny lawn. 
“ Go away, David, I am busy.” But Ursula had 
rushed up to him to tell the news of Merton. 

“ Passed top into the Civil Service ! ” repeated 
David, taking no notice of Georgina’s protest. 
“ Bravo ! the boy has done well. I am proud of 
him.” 

“ So are we all,” echoed Ursula, with shining 
eyes and faintly flushed cheeks. 

“I have not seen to-day’s papers yet,” said 


THRESHOLDS 67 

David, leaning his huge shoulders against the 
chimney-piece. 

“ Nor have we. But I had a letter from him 
this morning telling me all about it,” and Ursula 
spoke without a touch of self-consciousness. 

“I wish you would go away, David,” inters 
posed his sister, “ for Ursula has come to see me 
on business.” 

“ I want something to do,” the girl told him 
simply, “ and Georgina doesn’t think I know 
enough to teach. But I do, don’t I, Mr. Carr 
penter? You taught me, so you ought to know.” 

“ You know a fair amount of Latin,” he re- 
plied, slowly, “but ” 

“But what?” queried Ursula, looking up at 
him. 

“ I can imagine you better as a learner than 
a teacher, somehow,” and he smiled that kind 
smile of his which chased all the gloom and 
gravity from his face. 

“ That is what I think,” chimed in Georgina ; 
but it was not. Indeed it was the very opposite to 
what Georgina thought, if only she had known it. 

“ Surely there is no need for you to work ? ” 
he questioned, after a moment’s pause. 

“ I wish you would not interfere, David,” ex- 
claimed his sister, angrily. “ There is every need 


68 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


for Ursula to get something to do, and I must 
beg of you not to give your opinion on a subject 
about which you know nothing. Indeed, if you 
will kindly leave us, we shall be able to finish 
our business.” 

So David went back into the garden, and Ur- 
sula sat and boiled inwardly at Georgina’s rude- 
ness to him. She wondered how any woman 
could speak in such a nagging voice, and do such 
ugly things, for her own sake, if not for any 
one else’s. 

“I know,” exclaimed Miss Carpenter, sud- 
denly, “there are the new people at Rennel 
Hill. Why, it will be just the thing.” 

“ I thought an old lady had come there,” said 
Ursula. 

“ So she has. But she has two grandchildren 
living with her whose parents are in India. She 
will require a daily governess for them. I will 
arrange it all,” decidedly. “ And you will have 
to walk there and back every daj^.” 

“I hope it won’t be too far for me,” and 
Ursula thought of the three and a half miles up 
hill early every morning. 

“If you have no work in you, you may as 
well abandon the idea of working,” snapped 
Georgina. 


THRESHOLDS 


69 


“ Oh, I shall not mind it !” and Ursula spoke 
quickly. She did so hate to give way to her 
want of strength. 

“ Old Mrs. Lyall is a very interesting woman,” 
continued Georgina, “ for her father, a Sir Robert 
Wakenham, was a great man at court in her 
young days. Her mother came from this part of 
the world, and I believe she was born at old 
Wathern Palace beyond Winstow.” 

“ Why has she come back here after so long ? ” 

“ Oh, because she felt it was not good for the 
children to live in London, and the old feeling 
brought her to settle here. Rennel Hill was just 
empty, and it suited her exactly.” 

“ I wish I might, too,” said Ursula, wistfully. 

“Well, I will see what I can do,” Georgina 
promised, not unkindly. “ Only you must put 
your shoulder to the wheel, and not expect every- 
thing always done for you.” 

“ I will do my best,” answered the girl, 
quietly, and a brave spirit shone through her 
great grey eyes. “Thank you very much for 
helping me. Father said you would be sure to 
be able to.” 

Georgina looked pleased. “ I am always will- 
ing to help those who help themselves,” she ob- 
served graciously ; not knowing that it is 


Y0 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


woman’s dearest mission often to help those who 
cannot. 

As she walked back to Winstow Ursula pulled 
Merton’s letter out of her pocket and read 
through it all again and again. Who of us does 
not know that warm feeling of having a letter 
which will bear re-reading until its successor 
comes ? And Merton’s letter was almost as good 
as a real talk. More like his talks with Ursula 
than many letters could be, for she was always 
the listener then, as now ; and he had just poured 
out to her all the hopes and ambitions and youth- 
ful boasting, as sure of her ready sympathy and 
understanding as if he were indeed walking by 
her side. So with the quickened step of a strong 
and present interest Ursula sped down the hill, 
and was soon ready to give herself up to the dear 
task of writing a letter back to him. She, too, 
had the power of writing as she felt, and of say- 
ing just the very things he liked best to hear ; 
and her letter, as her thoughts, was full of him 
and his success, and she quite forgot to mention 
that she, too, that day had stepped over another 
threshold, and was looking out into a world in 
which she would have to work. A very different 
world from that which happier girls see from the 
windows of a sheltered home. 


CHAPTER IY 


MERTON WAIN WRIGHT 

A tall, handsome young man was walking 
up and down the platform at Paddington station 
waiting for the train which was to take him home 
to the west. He walked with a quick eager step, 
and there was a glad light in his keen, dark eyes, 
for he had never looked out on a world w r hich 
was not full of success for him to grasp, and he 
had never failed yet in grasping it. In the old 
days at Winstow Grammar School, Merton 
Wain wright had been head and shoulders, in- 
tellectually, above his fellows ; at Oxford he had 
taken a first, and now he had passed with high- 
est marks into the Civil Service. And it had all 
been delightful work to him — work which ex- 
hilarated rather than tired — a pleasure instead of 
a task. Moreover, Merton had been popular up 
at Oriel, and had assimilated there the easy good 
breeding of men better born than himself. It 
was easy to make a gentleman of Merton in spite 
of the draper’s shop at Winstow ; for those great 

personal and mental attractions with which na- 
71 


72 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


ture had so lavishly endowed him gave him a 
simple assurance in walking through the world 
which men fighting against any disability, 
whether social or otherwise, so often lack, and 
thereby become self-conscious, and even some- 
times aggressive. Perhaps it was the spirit of 
the old, grey-walled school which first lifted the 
boy on to that higher plane of manly feeling and 
natural simplicity, that taught him by the ex- 
ample of gentlemen what a gentleman really is, 
and brought him into touch with the ancient 
world which wrote its literature and sang its 
songs long before social smallnesses were ever 
dreamed of. Anyway, he possessed the natural 
good manners which so often accompany beauty 
of physique, and the quick instinct of catching 
all the little ways and tricks which are so essen- 
tial a part of what is called good form. Electro- 
plate, perhaps, instead of hall-marked silver ; but 
some electro-plate is very good, and passes quite 
easily in the eyes of the world as the genuine 
article. Merton Wainwriglit looked at life in 
this way : some men were well-born and fools, 
others were rich and ugly ; some had good man- 
ners, and others strong sinews; every one had 
something, no one had everything ; and his good 
things were, perhaps, above the average. He 


MERTON W AIN WRIGHT 


73 


was good at books and at athletics ; he was also 
good to look at and to talk to. On the other 
hand, he was nobody by birth. That was his 
only con against so many pros. Lots of men 
were much worse off in adding up the cons. So 
with his happy laugh he fearlessly looked Dame 
Fortune in the face, and thanked her for her 
many gifts, instead of blaming her for the one 
withheld. And deep down in his heart, unre- 
vealed to any one except Ursula, he meant to 
win for himself that one advantage which he 
had not inherited, and to die a gentleman even 
if he had not been born one. 

To enter one of the government offices had 
long been Merton’s dream. He was a keen poli- 
tician, and he thought that to be private secre- 
tary to a great statesman would be an ideal lot. 
All of which fate held in store for her darling ; 
and little time was lost before Merton was in- 
stalled in the one and selected as the other. 

As the train rushed down through the clear, 
cold country on that February day, hope beat 
very strong in the young man’s heart. It was 
good to go home with his record of success, and 
it would be nice to tell them all about it. Then 
there was Ursula, too, to look forward to. None 
of his triumphs would be complete without her 


74 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


admiring sympathy and adulation ; and she under- 
stood things better than his own people did, and 
could appreciate talk which would be unintelli- 
gible to them. Merton was very fond of Ursula, 
and his fondness lay in the fact that he felt he 
had somehow made her what she was. It was 
he who had helped her through that senior Ox- 
ford examination in which she did so well. It 
was his doing that she was interested in worlds 
outside the Winstow one; his influence that 
drew her out and taught her to think about 
deeper things than those which filled his sisters’ 
heads. There was an inquiring look on her 
small, wan face, and a wistful depth in her beau- 
tiful eyes which always drew him to stretch out 
a helping hand, so that they might be climbing 
together; and the creative side of Merton’s 
talent found the moulding and the making of a 
human soul far more interesting and satisfying 
work than the writing of successful essays or the 
composition of Latin verse. Ursula was his, for 
Merton, in the arrogance of success, could not 
imagine that she would have still been Ursula 
without him. A different Ursula, perhaps, but 
not necessarily an inferior one. Her thoughts 
and opinions were his, and he meant to lead her 
a long way yet before he would leave her to 


MERTON WAIN WRIGHT 


75 

think for herself. Then Ursula was socially his 
superior, which appealed strongly to Merton. 
She possessed that one qualification of being 
well-born, to which he attached all the impor- 
tance which people are wont to do to the things 
which have been denied them. Whatever we 
have we know the worth of, how little as well as 
how much — that is, if we look at life truly with 
no magnifying-glasses of self-satisfaction, or 
microscopic ones of depreciation ; but of the 
things which others have, and we have not, we 
are no real judges, either counting them too high 
in an envious longing, or too low in a petty jeal- 
ousy. So Merton thought much of Ursula for 
being of gentle birth, though, perhaps, not so 
much as she did of him for his brilliance, his 
good looks, and his success. And she would be 
so glad to see him. She always was. Her letter 
lay warm in his pocket and brought the sense of 
her companionship very near. 

The climax and glory of the Wainwrights’ 
day was high tea at six o’clock. That peculiar 
form of meal which is a half-caste between 
breakfast and dinner, with the indigestibleness 
of supper thrown in. This meal was postponed 
for an hour owing to Merton’s arrival, and he 
was met in the hall by his mother and sisters, 


76 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


his father deeming such demonstration a foolish 
and probably pernicious display in the eyes of 
the parlour maid and his new partner in the busi- 
ness, by name Albert Cox. 

Gertrude Wain wright had become a stout, 
handsome young woman, and her sister Gladys, 
who was ten years younger, had grown up into 
a showy, pert little thing. They wore maroon 
skirts and their best tartan blouses in Merton’s 
honour. He glanced at their clothes and thought 
that somehow they looked funny — but then he 
remembered that he had not been in feminine 
society for a long while, and had probably for- 
gotten women’s ways and looks. Visions of 
other fellows’ sisters flitted across his mind, but 
then, probably, they were much better looking. 

“ Tell us all about it, my dear,” begged Mrs. 
Wain wright from behind the substantial silver 
teapot. “ We are all so proud of you, aren’t we, 
papa ? ” 

Mr. Wain wright grunted. He did not approve 
of praising young men to their faces, especially 
when they had been so foolish as to throw over a 
partnership in a good paying concern for any mere 
advantage of scholarship. 

“ What shall you be now, Merton ? ” asked 
Gertrude. She and Albert Cox sat very near 


MERTON W AIN WRIGHT 


77 


each other, and there was a guilty look on both 
their faces which indicated a secret understand- 
ing. 

“ A government clerk,” replied Merton, help- 
ing himself to sausages. 

“ What ! ” thundered Mr. Wain wright. 

“ Only a clerk ! ” exclaimed Gladys, while her 
mother’s face turned almost pale. 

Merton laughed. “ There are clerks and 
clerks ! ” he said proudly. 

“ And I have been wasting my money to make 
nothing better than a clerk of you after all,” 
stormed Mr. Wain wright. “ That is what comes 
of going up to Oxford and such-like nonsense.” 

Gertrude glanced shyly at Albert. He was no 
clerk, but a partner in the business — and when 
they were married “ Wain wright and Cox ” was 
to be painted over the shop, and the old “ Merton 
and Wain wright ” rubbed out. 

“You don’t understand, father,” said Merton 
mildly. “ Civil servants are called clerks.” 

“ Servants ! ” gasped Mrs. Wainwright. “ Oh, 
my boy, my boy ! What have you sunk to ? ” 
And the poor woman was so upset that she filled 
up her teacup with coffee by mistake. 

Merton laughed again. He always had a sense 
of humour. 


78 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ Don’t glory in your shame, that is if you have 
any left,” growled his father. 

“ But, my dear father, you have no idea what 
you are talking about,” he expostulated. 

“ Hush, hush ! my love,” murmured his mother, 
“ papa always knows what he is talking about.” 

“ Surely you are old enough to have learned 
that by now,” remarked Gladys pertly, with her 
nose in the air ; “ I have yet to meet the man 
who doesn’t ! ” 

“Come, come, children, don’t quarrel! And 
on Merton’s first evening, too. Though I must 
own,” and the good lady shook her head, “ the 
word servant even gave me a turn.” 

“ Then I won’t use it again,” replied her son 
smiling. “ I shall be a private secretary, per- 
haps, before very long.” 

“ Like the thing in the play ? ” suggested Ger- 
trude. 

“ My eye, he was a wonner ! ” chimed in Albert 
Cox, speaking for the first time in a voice loud 
enough for any one but Gertrude to hear. 

“And do you get paid for all this tom- 
foolery?” asked Mr. Wain wright sulkily, “for 
I’ve stood your banker now quite long enough.” 

“What a mercy uncle John Merton left the 
boy that legacy ! ” thought Mrs. Wain wright to 


MERTON WAIN WRIGHT 


79 

herself, “ now that papa seems turning contrary.” 
But aloud she said, “ That will be very nice, 
dear. Such genteel work, too, I should im- 
agine.” 

“ Oh, it’s all right, father ! I can keep my- 
self,” and Merton’s face was very pleasant. “ I 
want Mr. Mandeville to take me, awfully ; he is 
a splendid chap.” 

“ Liberal or Tory ? ” asked Mr. Wain wright. 

“ Tory — one of the secretaries of state in the 
present government.” 

“ Tories make me sick ! ” remarked his father 
shortly. 

“ You aren’t supposed to have any politics of 
your own in the Civil Service,” explained Mer- 
ton. 

“ More like slaves, let alone servants, it seems 
to me,” growled Mr. Wain wright, who was de- 
cidedly ruffled. 

“ Has this Mr. Mandeville any daughters ? ” 
asked Gladys, with her forward little smile. 

“ I don’t know, I’m sure.” 

“ My ! aren’t we innocent ! ” continued the 
girl. “I have always heard that the private 
secretary has a good deal to do with the daugh- 
ters.” 

“ I don’t know the source of your information,” 


80 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


replied her brother loftily; “but anyway, it is 
not a reliable one.” 

“You ought to marry well, Merton,” chimed 
in Gertrude, whose thoughts were running a 
good deal on matrimony just then. 

“ What rot ! ” exclaimed her brother impa- 
tiently. 

“ Time enough to choose a wife when you can 
keep one,” observed Mr. Wain wright. 

“Oh, let the poor boy be,” said his mother 
soothingly, “ and eat his meal in peace, without 
worrying about a wife. ‘Never meet troubles 
half way ’ is what I always say, and it’s wonder- 
ful the indigestion it saves you, for which there 
is nothing so bad as worrying at meal times. 
My aunt Maria taught me that, I have never for- 
gotten it.” 

“ Ta-ta to freedom when once a fellow’s 
spliced,” sighed Albert, with a wink ; and then 
he turned up the whites of his eyes to emphasise 
the brilliance of his pleasantry. 

“ Get along ! ” murmured Gertrude coyly, and 
with a maidenly blush. 

“ I do hope, my dear,” began Mrs. Wainwright 
rather anxiously, “that it will be all indoor 
work. Those dreadful races and jumps at Oxford 
always put me in a flurry for fear you should 


MEBTOU W AIN WEIGHT 


81 


neglect to change your clothes and get a chill. 
And all about the river, too, was so damp with- 
out a mother to see your boots and socks were 
properly dried. 5 ’ 

“ Indoor work ! ” echoed her son, “ I should 
rather think it would be. I am afraid my 
muscles will go to rack and ruin.” 

“ Well, and what of that, love ? ” chimed in his 
mother. “ Surely gentlemen don’t want muscles. 
You might be a butty collier from the way you 
talk.” 

“ It always seems to me more refined for a man 
not to be too muscular,” said Gertrude, looking 
with pride at Albert’s puny frame and sloping 
shoulders. “ I don’t know what you are laugh- 
ing at, Merton, I am sure,” in an aggrieved voice. 
But before he could reply the door opened, and 
the servant announced “ Miss Ursula.” She was 
too well known at the Wain wrights ever to be 
Miss Grey. 

“ I had to rush in and congratulate Merton,” 
exclaimed the girl brightly, “ but I am so sorry 
to disturb you at tea. You are later than 
usual.” 

“Yes, my dear,” explained Mrs. Wain wright, 
“ but the boy’s train did not get in till nearly 


seven. 


82 THE WOKLD AND WINSTOW 


Merton’s eyes glowed with welcome. She 
came with such a fresh-air atmosphere into the 
stuffy, food-filled room, and he knew she would 
understand. 

46 Sit down, sit down,” Mrs. Wain wright 
pressed her. 

“Let me take off your coat,” and Gladys 
wrenched it from her. “ And your hat,” for the 
Wain wrights never believed that any one could 
digest a meal if they sat down to it with their 
hats on. 

“Have a sausage,” said Mr. Wainwright 
shortly. 

“ I must drink your health,” and Ursula 
nodded to Merton across the table, “ even if it is 
only in a cup of tea. Father and I were so ex- 
cited when we saw the list in the Times. Y ou 
never told us what a lot of marks you were 
ahead of everybody, Merton. Georgina Car- 
penter was at our house, and she told us her 
brother was saying that to pass first into the 
Civil Service is about the biggest thing you could 
have done. The Grammar School boys had a 
holiday to-day because of you.” 

“ I evidently don’t understand about this Civil 
Service business,” Mr. Wainwright observed 
grimly. 


MERTON W AIN WRIGHT 


83 


“He is either only a clerk or a servant,” 
chimed in Gladys sharply. 

“ Oh, yon little goose ! ” exclaimed Ursula, with 
a laugh. “ Don’t you know that the Civil Serv- 
ice is the government of the country, and one of 
the grandest kinds of profession, so that they have 
the hardest examinations to keep men out of it. 
It is simply splendid for Merton. Why, he may 
be a K.C.B. some day,” and she smiled at him 
again across the table. 

Mrs. Wain wright gave a sigh of relief. 

“ That is a load off my mind,” she said fer- 
vently ; “ for it seemed a pity for Merton’s 
schooling to come to nothing after all.” 

“You shouldn’t have used such silly words, 
Merton,” remarked Gertrude reprovingly ; “ it 
has quite upset papa.” The eldest sister attitude 
asserted itself generally after the first half hour. 

“ And you will be private secretary to a real 
cabinet minister ? ” Ursula asked eagerty. “ That 
would be just the kind of thing you would 
enjoy.” 

“ Rather ! ” answered Merton. “ I want dread- 
fully to be Mr. Mandeville’s, and I hope I may 
be.” 

“ And who’s he, did you say ? ” asked Albert 
Cox. Tie was a pale, sandy-haired, bilious-look- 


84: THE WORLD AND WIUSTOW 


ing young man, with a green satin tie, and rather 
dirty hands ; and Merton regarded him with but 
thinly-disguised scorn. 

“ The head of my department,” he explained 
haughtily. 

“ I can’t bear offices,” remarked Albert again. 
“ It’s nothing but clerk’s work, and precious little 
pay. Give me a business, I say. That’s where 
the money’s made,” and he smiled in a satisfied 
manner. 

“ Government offices are different,” began 
Ursula hotly, and then she caught Merton’s eye 
and suddenly laughed. It was delightful to have 
him back again, and the girl was quick enough 
in her perceptions to know that he was specially 
pleased with her. Merton always liked people 
better when they looked nice, and Ursula, in her 
simple grey skirt and flannel shirt, had a very 
dainty appearance just then among the gaudily- 
attired Wain wrights. Her pale face was slightly 
flushed with the excitement of seeing Merton, 
and her little, smooth, dark head ruffled by the 
unceremonious removal of her hat. Altogether 
the young man felt he had never seen her to such 
advantage, and he was very nice to her in conse- 
quence. 

“ I suppose you will live entirely in London 


MERTON W AIN WRIGHT 


85 


now ? ” asked Gertrude, trying to look as if she. 
were not holding Albert’s hand underneath the 
tablecloth, and to speak nonchalantly. 

“We can pay you visits, and you can show us 
round,” suggested Gladys ; “ for I suppose you’ll 
be thick with all the nobs up there.” 

“ I hate nobs ! ” remarked Albert, in his short, 
jerky way, “ they carry such a lot o’ side. It 
don’t suit me.” 

“Why, you’re almost a nob yourself, Albert,” 
giggled Gertrude ; “you so young and just taken 
into partnership on your own account.” 

“ Albert seems partial to partnerships,” said 
Gladys, with a wink. And then a merry laugh 
ran round the festive board, till it came to where 
Ursula sat, but her face was perfectly solemn. 
She was one of those people who could never see 
any joke in the great mystery of falling in love. 
She was both reverent and serious by nature, and 
moreover she always saw the deeper thing even 
in the heart of the most commonplace. Hence 
it never struck her either to make, or to laugh 
at, the kind of jokes in which the Wain wright 
girls delighted. 

“Ah, well!” observed Mr. Wainwright more 
genially under the soothing influence of hot tea 
and toasted muffins, “young folks will gang their 


86 THE WORLD A HD WINSTOW 


own gait, I suppose, and we old ones can only 
look on, seeing they are too wise to be guided by 
our advice. ,, 

“ It will be nice for the lad to always mix with 
gentry,” chimed in Mrs. Wainwright, catching 
with relief her husband’s tone. “ Not that I care 
much for the highest gentry myself, but then 
Merton has always been different.” 

Yes, Merton had always been different. 
Ursula thought she had never before realised how 
different, as she watched his handsome, high- 
bred face, and saw how unlike his collar and tie 
were to any that were worn in Winstow. It 
seems strange that such little things as ties and 
collars can betoken such enormous social gulfs, but 
it is so up from the class which is separated from 
chaos below by the wearing of a collar at all. 

“ How is Mr. Carpenter ? ” Merton wanted to 
know, having always felt a great affection for his 
old master. Indeed, it was in great measure 
David’s influence that had lifted Merton so far 
above his people. The grave schoolmaster held 
out a hand of friendship to the bright, pretty 
boy, and together they walked through many 
stages that lay outside the routine of school work. 
It was he who discovered and fostered Merton’s 
love of literature and art, and as they tramped 


MERTON W AIN WRIGHT 


87 


together over the country on long summer even- 
ings, or during the holidays, the eager child 
drank in the stores of knowledge which so few 
people suspected David of possessing, and con- 
cerning which he was usually so strangely silent. 
And as the boy grew older he, too, would quote 
reams of poetry and discuss questions of historic 
interest which his ordinary companions would 
never have understood. So the friendship grew 
apace between the ill-matched couple — the man 
who had failed and the boy who would succeed 
— and it was a delight to David to note the effect 
of his influence on Merton’s mind and character 
and manners, for the boy’s sake far rather than 
his own. For David Carpenter was one of the 
men who are made of unselfish material, and 
who really care for the ideal of work independ- 
ently of its effect upon themselves. And he kept 
his ideal of schoolmastership — the making and 
moulding of men rather than the forcing of pupils 
through examinations — deep down out of sight 
in his heart through years of humble, unrecorded 
work, with no thought of possible reward except 
the pure pleasure of seeing that the seed planted 
so quietly and simply had indeed taken root, and 
would bear fruit in the lives and thoughts of the 
men who should come after him. 


88 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“I never see Mr. Carpenter now,” remarked 
Gertrude with an attempt at disdain, “ I have 
other fish to fry.” 

“ He is so old and stupid,” chimed in Gladys ; 
“ but I let him shut my umbrella for me the 
other day. It had blown inside out, and he was 
passing. And we often flirt a bit on his way to 
and from school. It keeps my hand in when the 
younger chaps are busy.” 

“Good heavens!” exclaimed Merton, shrug- 
ging his shoulders. “As if a man like that 
would want to flirt with you ! ” he added with 
brotherly candor. 

“ Mr. Carpenter would never want to flirt 
with any one, I am sure,” argued Ursula. 

“ I suppose you often see him ? ” queried 
Gladys, with a flash of temper in the insinua- 
tion. 

“No, hardly ever,” replied Ursula simply. 
“But I see Georgina continually. She is very 
kind to us.” 

“ So I have heard,” continued the young lady 
disagreeably ; but then Merton spoke. 

“ If you have quite finished tea, mother, may 
we go ? I want to unpack one or two things for 
you and father and the girls, and then I will 
walk home with Ursula and look up Mr. Grey.” 


MEETON WAIN WEIGHT 


89 


“ Do, my dear. It is something like home to 
have you back again, my boy. And to hear you 
speak so polite to your poor mother is a refresh- 
ing sound.” 

Merton laughed, and put his arm round her 
ample waist as they all went out into the hall. 

“ A fellow who’s rude to his mother deserves 
to be kicked.” 

“Ah, but, my dear, there are many as are 
when they rise up in the world as you are doing, 
and the old folks have to stay behind in the 
humble homes.” 

“Then they ought to be ashamed of them- 
selves. Why, I could never forget that you are 
my mother whatever big place I might win. I 
couldn’t be such a cad.” 

“You are a dear lad,” and Mrs. Wainwright 
wiped a tear from her eyes as she followed Mer- 
ton up to his room, the floor of which was lit- 
tered with luggage, “ and when I thank God for 
making my boy a gentleman I never forget to 
add a prayer that he may not grow too grand to 
love his mother.” 

Merton laid his cheek against hers. 

“You need not be afraid, mother dear, for the 
more of a gentleman I am the less fear there is 
of my ever outgrowing my care for you. I am 


90 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


sorry you and father did not quite understand 
about my success, but I forgot every one would 
not know what a big thing it is to pass first into 
the Civil Service.” 

“ I am stupid, I know, but I am very jealous 
for you, my dear.” 

“ Well, I have got a bigger prize than I ever 
expected,” Merton assured her ; “ and Ursula 
was right, I may be a K.C.B. some day. How 
do you think Sir Merton Wain wright would 
sound, mother ? ” 

“ Something beautiful, dear lad. God bless 
you, and make you a good man even if you 
should be so lifted into the highest circles. And 
now, my dear, I must be going downstairs. 
Papa will wonder where I am, and he must not 
feel neglected because you have come home. It 
might lead to a little unpleasantness.” 

“ I say, mother,” and Merton looked up from 
his portmanteau and caught hold of her dress, 
“ what about that young bounder who was at 
tea?” 

“Oh, my dear! don’t speak like that. Papa 
has taken him into partnership now you do not 
want the place. And he and Gertrude have 
been carrying on a bit lately, and in my opinion 
he means business. It would be a fine settling 


MERTON W AIN WRIGHT 


91 


for Gerty, not being so young as she once was, 
and a bit stout, which is natural considering me, 
but it holds out no hopes that she will grow any 
thinner.” 

“ Good heavens ! ” exclaimed her son. 

“Do not use bad language, my dear. And 
you must remember that Gerty would not be to 
the taste of some of your fine friends ; and with 
Gladys coming on now so fast it would be a com- 
fort to have one of them settled with a home of 
her own. And if she fancies Albert, there is no 
need for us to give a contrary opinion. Be a 
good boy, Merton, and don’t say anything hurt- 
ful to your sister’s feelings — just to please me,” 
she coaxed. 

“ All right, mother. Only the thought of such 
a brother-in-law as that is rather a knock-down.” 

“Well, dear, it won’t matter to you up in 
London, and he is a very worthy young man.” 

“ That is a good thing considering his tie,” ob- 
served Merton resignedly. “I shall be down 
directly. Don’t let Ursula go.” 

“Very well. And you won’t speak of Albert 
again as 4 a bumper ’ before your sister, will you, 
dear ? ” 

“ All right ; only you mean bounder.” 

“Well, my love, it is all the same, and would 


92 THE WOKLD AND WINSTOW 


be very hurtful to Gerty’s feelings,” and she 
bustled away. 

Meanwhile the elder Miss Wain wright had 
dragged Ursula off for a quiet confidence. Ursula 
was surprised as she and Gertrude had never 
been special friends, and she was impatient for a 
talk with Merton. But she had not lived nearly 
twenty years for other people without learning 
much of the spirit of sympathy, so she was quite 
ready to enter into whatever Gertrude had to 
tell. 

“ Oh, Ursula ! ” began that young lady with 
crimson cheeks and rather a nervous little laugh, 
“ I suppose you have guessed ? ” 

“What?” For Ursula was still at sea. Of 
course she had noticed young Cox’s friendship 
with the Wain wrights, but she had always lived 
in a masculine atmosphere, and so was never on 
the lookout for incipient love affairs, where they 
might exist, any more than where they might not. 

“ Why, about me and Albert. It was only yes- 
terday he really popped the question, though we 
have been carrying on ever since he came.” 

“ Do you mean that you are going to marry 
Mr. Cox? ’’asked Ursula slowly. The idea of 
any one’s being willing to marry Albert Cox was 
a difficult one for her to grasp. 


MERTON WAIN WRIGHT 


93 


“Well, what else should I mean, I’d like to 
know ? ” exclaimed the bride elect somewhat snap- 
pishly. 

Ursula looked at her curiously. 

“ Are you in love with him ? ” she asked. 

“ Aren’t I just ! ” and Gertrude blushed. “ Why, 
he’s a regular honey, is Albert ! ” 

Her friend drew nearer. She was so quick to 
see when things were real, and there was a look 
in Gertrude’s eyes that only reality could have 
lighted. 

“ What does it feel like, Gertrude ? Do tell 
me.” 

“ Oh, I can’t exactly say. All hot and shivery 
somehow. And you know how I relish my food 
as a rule, Ursula? Well, I haven’t been able 
hardly to swallow solids since Albert came up to 
the scratch. I’ve never refused sausages in my 
life before, but I couldn’t have fancied one to- 
night.” 

Ursula had never been so near a love story be- 
fore. She had read of such things, and dreamed 
of them, too, in some bright realm of future ex- 
perience ; but her ideas on the subject were all 
indistinct and floating in a golden haze. The sud- 
den focussing of these far-off rays of light into 
such a very commonplace romance filled her with 


94 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


a strange, sad wonder. She knew quite well how 
utterly impossible a man Albert Cox was, and 
she saw all the vulgarities of Gertrude Wain- 
wright ; but she also felt that this love that had 
touched them was something outside their sordid 
selves, and yet was too beautiful a thing for such 
as they even to handle. Love stories seemed to 
her to belong to a race of fair ladies and noble 
knights, and to be spoiled and tarnished by the 
touch of such common hands. She was too young 
then to know that God’s best gifts, such as light 
and beauty and friendship and love are within 
the reach of all those who have eyes to see and 
hands to grasp them. That no room is too poorly 
furnished for the sunlight to be admitted, no life 
too commonplace for love to be let in. In youth’s 
ignorance she shrank from the fact that so pre- 
cious a jewel should be enshrined in such a cheap 
casket, instead of seeing how blessed a thing it is 
that poor ordinary lives, which have no beauty 
of their own, can still be enriched by the heavenly 
colouring of the gift of love. 

“ I suppose being in love makes people seem 
quite different?” queried Ursula meditatively. 
She was trying to reconcile Albert’s romance 
with Albert’s self. But Gertrude was growing 
impatient of these introspective suggestions in- 




MERTON W AIN WRIGHT 95 

stead of the hearty congratulations she felt were 
her due. 

“ No, it doesn’t,” she answered sharply. “ Any 
one can see what Albert is, and what a fortunate 
girl I am to have taken his fancy. There isn’t a 
girl I know in Winstow who wouldn’t be glad to 
be making such a comfortable marriage. ‘Dif- 
ferent,’ indeed ! I don’t know what you are talk- 
ing about.” 

Ursula came back to the practical with a 
start. 

“ It was only that I was trying to understand 
it all, Gertrude, because it seems to me so won- 
derfully interesting that you and Mr. Cox should 
feel like that. I do congratulate you, dear, and 
hope you will be very happy.” 

Miss Wainwright acknowledged the good 
wishes by a somewhat noisy embrace. 

“We had our first kiss under the mistletoe last 
Christmas,” she announced in a burst of confi- 
dence. 

“ But Mr. Cox had only just come then ! ” ex- 
claimed Ursula. 

“ Well, and what of that ? It was only a mis- 
tletoe kiss, you know, and a bit of a lark and all 
that. You are such a prude, Ursula, with that 
pale, grave face of yours and dressed in such 


96 THE WORLD AHD WINSTOW 


dowdy colours as you generally choose. I don’t 
wonder the men aren’t after you ; but never 
mind, you can’t help it.” 

“ I don’t mind,” replied Ursula fervently, as the 
idea of such attentions as Albert Cox’s made her 
hot all over. 

“ We are to be married this summer,” giggled 
Gertrude. “ Oh, I can hardly believe it ! It 
seems too good to be true. Think of it, Ursula ! 
The trousseau, and furnishing the house, and all 
that ! My head’s in a perfect whirl.” 

“ I shouldn’t have thought that you would have 
had time to think about such details as clothes 
and furniture yet?” and Ursula’s face looked 
puzzled. 

“ Details ! ” exclaimed her friend. “ That is 
you all over. Why, I was imagining the draw- 
ing-room carpet while we were at tea. Don’t 
you think crimson looks good and cheerful, and 
handsome rep curtains to match? But then, 
again, crimson is best for the chairs, because of 
setting off the antimacassars — those white crochet 
ones, you know — and the carpet ought to be a 
contrast.” 

“ When did you begin to like Mr. Cox ? ” asked 
Ursula suddenly, “ that is, if you don’t mind tell- 
ing me ? Of course, I don’t want to seem curious, 


MERTON WAINWRIGHT 


97 


but it interests me so very much. I never talked 
to any one who was in love before.” 

“ Oh, la ! I don’t mind. Indeed it’s nice to 
have you to talk to, Ursula. You’re always a 
good little thing. Well, it must have been soon 
after he came. He always has such a way with 
him, has Albert ; only I couldn’t be sure you see, 
that he meant anything more than just 4 a kiss 
and never tell,’ ” and Gertrude laughed half- 
shyly. 

“ But — I don’t understand,” gasped Ursula. 

“You’re such an innocent, my dear! Well, 
then, we got walking out together more and 
more, and — and it’s no use disguising the matter 
any longer, I should have died if he had not 
meant it ! ” 

Ursula’s quick ear caught the note of reality 
which rang sharp and clear in the last few words. 

44 1 am so glad,” she said softly, 44 that it came 
all right.” 

44 It’s an awful strain, Ursula,” Gertrude con- 
tinued, her eyes full of tears, 44 wondering and 
hoping, and having to keep it all to yourself. 
If anything would have made me thin I am sure 
that would. I got such a sick feeling inside 
when he carried on a bit with the Holt girls, or 
even once when he said your eyes were scorch- 


98 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


ers. And all the sympathy I got from Gladys 
was her telling me how forward I was,” and Ger- 
trude sobbed into her pocket-handkerchief. 

“Never mind, dear,” said Ursula, taking her 
hand; “all that is over now, and I hope you 
will be very happy.” 

“It has come with a rush at the end,” ex- 
plained the weeping Miss Wain wright, thickly ; 
“ and upset me altogether. But it seems silly, 
don't it ? to cry over getting the very thing in 
the world you want.” 

“ It isn’t silly,” exclaimed Ursula quickly, feel- 
ing somehow that it was far nearer to what 
should be than the discussion of the drawing- 
room carpet. “ Caring so much about anything, 
in a happy as well as a sad way, would be sure 
to make one cry.” 

“ What a comfort you are,” and Gertrude 
dried her tears. “ He’s going to buy me a ring 
to-morrow. He asked me what w r as my favour- 
ite stone, and when I said garnets he actually 
said that a ruby wouldn’t be too good for me, 
and he could fork out quite easily to that tune. 
He’s that well off now, you know, Ursula, that 
it’ll all be quite pleasant with papa. It seems so 
providential that he was taken into partnership 
first, doesn’t it ? ” 


MERTON W AIN WRIGHT 


99 


“ I expect it was.” 

“Well, hardly that! Only it does seem so,” 
replied Gertrude, whose creed that Providence 
was only concerned in killing people, was simple, 
and not perhaps wholly uncommon. 

“I once thought,” she began again after a 
few moments silence, “that I could have fan- 
cied David Carpenter, but it was nonsense — I 
couldn’t.” 

“But did he ever want you to?” Ursula 
asked in amazement. 

“ You are simple ! ” exclaimed her friend ; “ as 
if a girl couldn’t see what nobody else does.” 
Which was perfectly true in this case, even in- 
cluding David himself. 

“ Oh ! there is Merton calling for you. How 
tiresome of him, just when I wanted you to talk 
it all over with. Gladys is not very pleasant 
about it — jealous of course — and keeps making 
rude remarks about girls being not so young as 
they once were, but I’m much better looking,” 
and her ruffled countenance assumed a sudden 
smile. “ Albert says so.” 

But it was delightful to Ursula to escape, and 
she loved walking home through the keen, clear 
starlight, with her old friend, Merton, who was yet 
growing into something newer and better, too. 
LofC. 


100 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ Tell me all about it,” she said simply ; and 
the young man, being one who always wanted a 
listener, poured forth into her sympathetic ears 
the tangled story of work and play, of ambitions 
and successes, which no one could understand 
quite so well as she. Her eyes shone, and the 
sharp air painted a little flush upon her cheek, 
for as yet it seemed to the girl the best thing in 
the world to listen to Merton’s talk about him- 
self. She did not know that there is a happier 
stage beyond this when a man will only talk to 
a woman about herself, because his own things 
seem so dull and empty without her touch upon 
them, and are only interesting to him when they 
belong also to her. 

“ I have always wanted to go into the Civil 
Service, you know, Ursula, and it is so jolly to 
get what you want, isn’t it ? ” 

“ It must be perfectly lovely.” 

“ It is, though it seems silly to say so. Only 
of course it is different with you. There is such 
a lot I want to say, and yet can only say to 
you — because you see, the mater and the girls 
couldn’t possibly enter into it, and one can’t talk 
like that to other fellows. They would only 
laugh.” 

“I know,” and Ursula nodded her head wisely. 


MERTON WAINWRIGHT 


101 


“You see, all my friends up there are gentle- 
men by birth, so they can’t quite realise what all 
this means to me.” 

“ And you are a gentleman, too, Merton,” ex- 
claimed his friend, loyally, “you know you are.” 

“ Not quite the same as some of them. But I 
mean to be a gentleman nevertheless,” and the 
young man threw back his head proudly. “ And 
not stop getting on either. Work is always easy 
to me, you know.” 

“ Do you remember how easily you used to 
win the prizes at school?” and Ursula’s eyes 
were rather dreamy. 

“Well, it has always been the same. Don’t 
repeat what I say — it sounds like side, and I 
don’t mean it to be — but I can always succeed in 
things. I saw when I went up to Oxford that 
it would be a pull to play cricket and do ath- 
letics, more even than to take a good degree, 
though of course I always meant that, too. And 
you know what a good all-round man I became, 
and how I got into a better set than just a gram- 
mar school scholar ever would have done.” 

“You are splendid, Merton, and you always 
have been. I know you will be a great man 
some day.” 

“ I don’t know about that,” he exclaimed, pleas- 


102 THE WOKLD AND WINSTOW 


antly ; but then his tone waxed more confiden- 
tial, “ but I mean to try, and to get into society, 
and all that, Ursula, too. It’s a ripping feeling 
to know you’ve got life before you, and such 
big prizes to win, and people are so jolly to me 
everywhere. Do you know I danced with an 
earl’s daughter at one of the Commem. balls. 
Of course I wouldn’t tell any one but you, it 
sounds so snobbish.” 

“But you know I understand that it isn’t 
really,” she interrupted eagerly — almost too 
eagerly for a perfect belief — “ It is just as an 
indicator of the heights you are climbing up 
to already, not a crowning fact of itself.” 

“Yes, that’s it. How awfully well you put 
things, Ursula.” For Merton had felt a flush of 
shame even in the dark at the thought that he 
was bragging. 

“ It seems somehow a mistake,” continued the 
girl, “ that you are not the heir to some great 
family. I always used to make up stories about 
you, Merton, in which you were a prince in dis- 
guise.” 

“ Of course I wish,” and the young man’s voice 
rang rather plaintively, “that my people were 
like yours have always been, gentlefolks from 
ever so long ago, and with a crest and all that 


MERTON W AIN WRIGHT 


103 


kind of thing. I am afraid I envy you, Ursula, 
your well-bred ancestors.” 

“ And I envy you, Merton,” she interrupted, 
quickly, “ for all your brilliance and cleverness 
and popularity. You must remember,” and her 
voice thrilled with a feeling of unspoken sympa- 
thy, “ that it may be a greater thing to found a 
family than to end one. I think my childish 
fancy is a prophecy too; perhaps you are a 
prince in disguise after all, and the time is com- 
ing when you shall find and enter into your 
kingdom.” 

Merton smiled, and his smile was a very sun- 
shiny one. 

“You are awfully nice to me,” he said, 
simply, “ and you always understand what I 
mean, even when I can’t quite explain it. How 
is it?” 

“ I think,” with a thoughtful look, “ that it is 
never difficult to understand, if only we put our- 
selves in the other person’s place. I have often 
had to do that kind of thing, you know, so, I 
suppose, it comes easily to me. But with you, 
Merton, it is different. It is my favourite place 
to stand up by you, and then I can’t help seeing 
all your view, too.” 

“ Well, I am very glad you are here. I simply 


104 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


couldn’t imagine a home-coming without you. 
Of course, I am awfully fond of the mater — a 
fellow always is of his mother, because there is 
something bigger in it than just her goodness to 
him ; but, I say, Ursula, I can’t help it, but do 
you think it is caddish of me not to ever want 
Gertrude and Gladys to come to London, to say 
nothing of that horror of a Cox ? I should hate 
to turn out a snob, because, of course, I know I 
have risen, and all that ; but I should be rather 
sick if I had to show up the girls to some of my 
friends. This is in deadly confidence, you 
know.” 

Ursula’s voice was very gentle. 

“ I don’t think Gertrude will want to come to 
London . now she is engaged,” she suggested, 
soothingly. 

“ You don’t think it horrid of me to say this ? ” 
earnestly. “ I couldn’t to any one but you. 
Only somehow things looked worse to-night 
than whenever I have come home before. And 
you seemed so different, Ursula, and — and I 
wished you were my sister instead.” 

And in those days Ursula flushed with pleasure 
at such a compliment. 

“ I liked your clothes awfully, too. Lots of the 
men’s sisters wore shirts like yours.” 


MERTON WAIN WRIGHT 


105 


“ I made this myself,” Ursula confided in him, 
“and it was quite cheap grey flannel.” 

“ Oh, but that doesn’t matter a bit, if things 
look right. And you had such a nice grey satin 
ribbon round your waist. That wasn’t quite 
cheap ? ” And he laughed teasingly. 

“ No, that was an extravagance,” Ursula ad- 
mitted, “ in honour of your coming home. I 
saved it out of my breakfast, because I haven’t 
been very hungry lately, and father did not come 
down ; so very little did for me.” 

“ I used to save out of my meals,” agreed Mer- 
ton, not knowing that while his economies were 
in luxuries Ursula’s were in necessities. “ It is 
rather a good plan.” 

“It is, indeed — if you like my ribbon,” she 
added, with a laugh. 

“ Of course, I could never hide that she was 
my sister ? ” remarked Merton, after a moment’s 
silence, and in a faintly questioning tone. 

“ Of course not,” echoed Ursula quickly, and 
he knew that she was right. 

“ But I needn’t have much to do with that Cox 
creature, need I ? ” he pleaded. 

“ I wouldn’t even think of him,” laughed Ur- 
sula, and Merton joined in the laugh with a light- 
heartedness that showed he had for the moment 


106 TIIE WORLD A HD WIHSTOW 


put the unpleasant thought entirely out of sight. 
Which was one of Merton’s powers, and one 
which in after days made him a happier if not a 
finer man. He always could shut his eyes where 
he would, and he never liked to look at what 
was ugly and unattractive, however plainly it 
was stamped on the world about him, and even 
when it was written on the face of a friend. 
But Ursula was not made that way. She saw 
straight through the scarred surface into the 
heart of the need beneath, and, seeing, sympa- 
thised, and, looking deeper, learned to love. 

“ I am glad Mr. Carpenter is pleased,” con- 
tinued Merton, “ he has always been so jolly to 
me, and I owe him such a lot.” 

“ When Mr. Carpenter smiles about anything 
it always reminds me of a frozen pool’s suddenly 
melting and the sun’s shining warm into it. Do 
you know what I mean ? ” 

“ Oh ! I never thought about it. Did you tell 
him, Ursula ? ” 

“ Yes — in spite of Georgina,” she added, with 
a laugh. 

“ She’s an old cat ! ” he exclaimed. “ And 
what did he say ? ” 

“ That you were a good boy, or something to 
that effect.” 


MERTON W AIN WRIGHT 


10Y 


“ How like him ! Do you know, Ursula, I be- 
lieve I care more about his praise than anybody’s 
in the whole world. It makes me feel somehow 
such a little chap again. And I am proud of my- 
self in a humble sort of way.” 

“ I know.” 

“ And I can’t get rid of his influence, either. 
Do you know, once up at Oxford, some men were 
talking about the schools they’d been at, and 
sneering at fellows who hadn’t been at one of the 
public schools, and I was rather pretending I had 
been at one too, which was beastly of me, I 
know, only it is frightfully difficult not to mind 
about some things ; when suddenly I remembered 
Carpenter, and what he would have said, and I 
spoke up straight out, and told them I had only 
been at Winstow Grammar School, so I was 
rather out of their talk, and — and you don’t 
know how hard it was. But I couldn’t be 
ashamed then of the school where he had done 
all that for me.” 

“ It was splendid of you, Merton,” and Ursula’s 
eyes shone. 

“ Of course it wasn’t. Only it saved me from 
being a cad, you see.” 

“ You could never be that, Merton.” 

The young man shook his head. “ I know 


108 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


myself better than you do, Ursula, and it would 
be very easy to me to catch on to the new things 
and forget the old.” 

A sudden pain leapt at the girl’s heart — a 
dread that Merton might one day outgrow the 
memories of Winstow and the friendships which 
had sprung from childhood there. But then she 
looked up into his handsome, open face, and felt 
that her fear was a disloyal one. 

“ You will find your kingdom some day, Mer- 
ton,” she said earnestly, “ but you will always 
remember that it was at Winstow that some of 
us first found out that you were a prince.” 

44 Yes, I will,” he promised. And they went 
into the house quite content. 

Mr. Grey was very glad to see Merton again, 
and made him warmly welcome. He was always 
interested to hear of that Oxford world where 
his father had been in the good old days when 
the Greys held their heads up in the world, and 
lived according to their deserts. It was such a 
pleasure to Mr. Grey to go over their family his- 
tory, and to grumble at the fate which denied 
him the privileges of his forefathers. But a 
country clergyman of fifty years before could 
only endow his sons with a professional educa- 
tion, and leave them with that to fight their own 


MERTON WAIN WRIGHT 


109 


way in the world. Two of them, who were sol- 
diers, had fought their way out of it ; another, 
who had taken Orders, died during a time of 
special stress and strain in the black heart of 
East London, and Arthur, the youngest, who 
was a lawyer, was left as the sole representative 
of that branch of the family of Grey. 

Though their home was poor and shabby, and 
its table most inadequately spread, there was al- 
ways a refinement about it that appealed to 
Merton’s fastidious taste. He felt much more at 
home there than he ever did in his father’s house 
behind the shop, and he never failed to give to 
Mr. Grey that deferential respectful courtesy 
which made the young man so popular also with 
men much older than himself. 

As he sat smoking in the small library, which 
was the Greys’ only attempt at a sitting-room, 
he forgot to be irritated with the man’s queru- 
lous complaints because of the purity of his pro- 
nunciation, and he looked with real admiration 
and affection on the picture of Ursula knitting in 
the firelight, with a glad smile of sympathetic 
interest driving all the sadness out of her beauti- 
ful eyes. And it was only after he had gone 
away back to London, robbing her world of his 
absorbing personality, that Ursula remembered 


110 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


she had never even told him about the prospect 
of her own immediate work, or the far-off castle, 
of which Georgina Carpenter had laid the foum 
dation-stone, that she might one day also* follow 

-•ft*;; 

him to London. 


CHAPTER Y 


KENNEL HILL 

Georgina Carpenter was true to her word 
and promise to arrange for Ursula’s engagement 
as governess at Rennel Hill. 

Old Mrs. Lyall was somewhat overpowered 
by the charge of the two sturdy grandchildren 
whom her son in India had handed over to her, 
but she was delighted to feel in them a legiti- 
mate excuse for abandoning her small London 
home, and coming to live in the country where 
she had been born such long years ago. 

As you climb up the steep, white road from 
Winstow, with the valley of the river on your 
left, and the far stretch of channel and country 
beyond it on your right, you pass through village 
and hamlet where creeper-covered cottages clus- 
ter, and an old grey church marks out the con- 
fines of a new parish. But the road winds on, 
with a promise at each corner of some wider 
stretch of far-away beauty, and a fresh whiff of 
the cool, sweet air that blows over the moors. 
Long narrow lanes strike off from the main way 


112 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


here and there, and dive down into the rich val- 
leys which reach to the water’s edge, but the 
road itself makes great bounds uphill until it 
brings you to the Chase, where the tangled wild- 
ness of Scotland seems to have been caught up 
and transplanted into this warm western coun- 
try, and on the border of which stands the old 
sunny house which goes by the name of Rennel 
Hill. Almost hidden by its shelter of stately 
trees, it turns its back on the high road, and 
looks towards the south, catching through an 
open glade that far-off silver streak beyond the 
view which shows how near the sea-line really is. 
A low stone wall at the end of the broad path, 
which runs round the house, makes a balcony 
from which to watch the river six hundred feet 
below — to hear the murmur of its waters, and to 
look far down at its winding way through the 
encircling hills. The old lady herself, with her 
sweet, tranquil face and snow-white hair, added 
to the beauty of the picture, Ursula thought, as 
she came to greet her with that old-world cour- 
tesy which gets so crowded out of modern man- 
ners, and hangs only like some faint scent of 
dried rose leaves and lavender about the dear, 
dainty old-ladyhood which is now so rarely to 
be found. 


KENNEL HILL 


113 


“Welcome to Kennel Hill, my child,” said 
Mrs. Lyall in her soft, musical voice, as she held 
out hands of greeting. 

A lump rose in Ursula’s throat, and her eyes 
filled with foolish tears. 

“ You are such a little girl to have to work,” 
continued the old lady, “ and such as you ought 
to have only time for play. I am so sorry when 
life is hard on the children.” 

“ But I am quite grown up, you know,” ex- 
plained Ursula with a quiver in her voice. 

Mrs. Lyall smiled. “Not quite,” she said 
gently. “I don’t think that even I am quite 
grown up yet, nor ever shall be this side the 
grave. We mortals cry and fret and question 
as children even to the end, but our Father is 
very patient, and He knows we shall be wiser 
one day, dear.” 

“ It is very good of you to have me,” said the 
girl, glancing at Mrs. Lyall’s sweet face, with 
that wistful look of hers which always won for 
Ursula her friends. “ I am not clever enough 
for a good governess, I am afraid.” 

“ Never mind about that. I cannot think of 
you as anything but a child yourself, for I re- 
member what a long way off it was when I 
stood, as you do now, on the threshold of the 


114 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


years, and looked with wondering eyes into the 
misty distance. And how happy and ignorant I 
was — almost as much so as my little grandchil- 
dren are now. And I think, dear, that I would 
rather you were happy and ignorant too.” 

“But don’t you want me to teach, Mrs. 
Lyall ? ” 

“Yes, my child. But in the simple, uncon- 
scious way of being what a girl should be ; not 
by filling your poor little head with hard, dry 
facts instead of the sweet girlish fancies that 
ought to be there.” 

“ You must tell me what you want me to do,” 
said Ursula earnestly. “Already I want to 
please you more than by just doing the work 
I am paid for.” 

The old lady took Ursula’s hand and linked it 
in her arm, and together they strolled through 
the quaint, sun-filled flower garden, bounded by 
its lichen-covered wall, the door of which opened 
out right into the tangle of the wildest part of 
the Chase. 

“ I want you, dear, to come near to my grand- 
children in that child spirit which never dies or 
grows old in those who enter the kingdom of 
heaven as little children — to play with them and 
work with them as a friend ; a little wiser friend, 


RENNEL HILL 


115 


perhaps, but in no far-away grown-upness which 
shall shut you out from their everyday life and 
interests. I am too old to be much to these dear 
babies,” and a sad smile flickered over the with- 
ered face, “ and their young mother is far away. 
But I want them to learn how sweet a thing is 
the young mother heart, which is wrapped up in 
all true womanhood, and if you teach them that, 
Ursula — you must forgive my calling you by 
what is one of my favourite names — you will 
have fulfilled my ideal of what your work may 
be.” 

“ I will try, Mrs. Lyall,” and the girl looked 
up with shining eyes. “ It makes it all seem so 
different now you have shown me the ideal.” 

“Ah, my child ! It is just that which makes 
the world seem so different. Never lose sight of 
the Ideal, for it is that which brings out all the 
latent beauty of life.” 

“My life has been so full of duty,” said Ursula 
in a quickened confidence, “ that I am afraid I 
have never seen much beyond it.” 

“ Poor child ! I understand. Mr. Carpenter 
told me how brave you are and how hard some- 
times is your lot.” 

“ Mr. Carpenter ! ” exclaimed Ursula. “ Don’t 
you mean Georgina ? ” 


116 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


“No, my dear,” replied Mrs. Lyall with a 
smile at the recollection of the two accounts of 
Ursula which she had received from Georgina 
and Georgina’s brother. “ It was Mr. Carpenter 
who told me most about you.” 

“He doesn’t know much about me,” argued 
Ursula ; “ though of course he has known me 
slightly for a long time.” 

“ It was what he told me that made me want 
to have you, Ursula. Ah ! that is so like you 
young people ; you little know what friends you 
have, for the need, which brings out true friend- 
ship, does not often come with youth. "Would 
to God that it never did.” 

Ursula was silent. She wondered whatever 
David could have had to say about her, and she 
wondered still more that he ever found tongue to 
say it. But it was kind of him, and she was glad. 

“Here are the children,” said their grand- 
mother as two little figures in holland pinafores 
came rushing out of the house. Such a merry, 
rosy couple with round curly heads and bright 
brown eyes. Ursula could hardly distinguish be- 
tween their faces, for they had the same neat, 
tight little mouths, and the same dimples in their 
sun-browned cheeks, though one of them was a 
couple of sizes larger than the other. 


KENNEL HILL 


117 


“This is Dick,” exclaimed his grandmother, 
indicating the taller, “ and we call his little sister 
Dubby.” 

“ They both look like boys,” exclaimed Ursula 
in astonishment. 

“ Dick is a real boy, and I are only a p’etend- 
ing one,” remarked Dubby solemnly ; “ but 
we’ll both be soldiers when we’re kite growed 
up.” 

“You won’t,” argued her brother from the 
pinnacle of just seven years, for Dubby was 
barely five. 

“I will, I will, I will ! I feel I will,” screamed 
the little girl in sudden and impotent indigna- 
tion. “You promised yesterday I should when 
we builded the castle,” and she looked up eagerly 
at her brother. 

“Do not tease your little sister,” said Mrs. 
Lyall, laying her hand on his rough head ; for you 
must not forget that boys are strong, and should 
protect the weak. You must be brave and 
chivalrous towards all women, Dick, remember- 
ing that they are weak while you are strong.” 

“ You wouldn’t call nurse weak if you heard 
her pull up the blinds,” argued the child in de- 
fence of his position. 

“Nurse is stronger than a elephant,” chimed 


118 THE WOELD AND WINSTOW 


in his little sister, who never failed in loyal 
partizanship ; “ she’s enough strong to break the 
combs when our heads is washed.” 

“ What dears they are ! ” exclaimed Ursula. 
“ I have never had anything to do with children 
before, but I know I shall love it. It will be 
more like play than work, Mrs. Lyall.” 

“I wish it to be so, my dear. Perhaps as 
much for your sake, since I have seen you, as for 
theirs. I do not like young faces to look so white 
and sad as yours, Ursula; and the children, I 
hope, may give you back some of that sunshine 
which ought to have come to you through the 
nursery window of your own childhood.” 

“ I never had a nursery, that I can remember,” 
said the girl simply ; “ for I have always had so 
much work to do.” 

“Too much, my child, I fear. And it has 
made you wise beyond your years. But when 
God wants our time for His purpose, we know 
that He will give back to us some day all that 
we have missed thereby of joy and gladness a 
thousandfold.” 

“I am not wise,” and the girl’s voice rang 
sadly. “I have never had a mother to teach 
me how to be. And I always feel when 
things go wrong and I am impatient, how 


KENNEL HILL 


119 


different it would have been if only she had 
been here.” 

“ You make a mistake in saying you have no 
mother to teach you, Ursula. Do you think that 
the fuller love of the life of love across the grave 
is cramped and shortened, so that it cannot help 
and influence its dear ones ? Do you imagine 
that the fragment of the eternal, which comes to 
leaven the lump of our everyday lives here, is less 
than the whole yonder ? No, my dear ; believe 
me, the veil is thinner than we think, and the 
heart clasp of those who love us deeper than the 
physical handshake. Even here, you know, it 
is so.” 

“ Are you going to play with us ? ” demanded 
Dick, suddenly abandoning the attempt to drive 
an excitable hen into the path along which it 
should have walked to its coop. 

“ Me, too,” pleaded Dubby. “ And don’t play 
games what’s too growed-up for me, like grannie 
and Dick does with the cards.” And her round 
face became puckered with anxiety. 

“ Yes, go with the children now,” said Mrs. 
Lyall, “ and they will show you the garden and 
all their treasures, and the little room over the 
front door which is to belong to you three for 
your very own. And remember, Ursula, that 


120 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


you and the children have much to learn from 
each other.” And she shook her head at the 
contrast between the two fat, chubby faces and 
the slender girl’s pale one. “We are apt to think 
that because we grow older we know more ; and 
so it should be. But we have much to learn 
from the next generation, as well as much to 
teach it. We must bear that in mind. But I 
will not keep you now. Good-bye till one 
o’clock.” And the old lady went off on her gar- 
dening business, with her basket over her arm 
and the large scissors in her gauntlet-gloved 
hand. 

Ursula looked after her with a reverent admi- 
ration. She had never seen any one so gracious 
and yet so grandly gentle as Mrs. Lyall. Her 
tall, stately figure looked graceful in a garden 
shawl, and her well-set head carried the large, 
mushroom-shaped hat as it would, and had, a 
diamond tiara at a court ball. 

“ Grannie does rather long talks,” explained 
Dick, hanging on to Ursula’s arm ; “ but we 
have to listen ’cause of politeness.” 

“ I don’t like politeness,” Dubby chimed in ; 
“ and I thought p’r’aps it wouldn’t matter at 
Winstow same as it did in Inja and in the ship. 
On’y it does — worser,” she added emphatically. 


KENNEL HILL 


121 


“ Oh, it always matters,” interposed Ursula 
hastily. 

“ There ! ” exclaimed Dick triumphantly. “ I 
told you so ! ” 

“ Let’s pretend,” began Dubby thoughtfully, 
“ that we is a werry unpolite family, what lives 
in an unpolite place.” 

“ No,” contradicted Dick ; “ let’s pretend 

we’re going to shoot tigers in the jungle. 
Through that door is a lovely jungle, you 
know.” 

“ But I want to see the garden first,” said 
Ursula. 

“ I’se got a garden,” and Dubby nodded her 
round little head wisely ; “ on’y my fings don’t 
grow quick enough, though I dig them up nearly 
every day.” 

“That’s the worst of gardens,” chimed in 
Dick ; “ it’s almost all waiting. It took years 
and years to grow my mustard and cress letters, 
and we eat them in a minute.” 

“ They tasted rather much of grit, too,” ob- 
served his little sister. “I bited it, and it 
cracked.” 

“ What a dear little wood ! ” exclaimed Ursula, 
for the lawn seemed to overflow into woods all 
the way round, and the bright daffodils waved 


122 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


their heads as the soft wind passed over them, 
which was bringing spring up from the mellow 
west. 

“ We’re forbid to walk on that wall what looks 
down to the river,” and Dubby regarded the 
balcony wistfully. 

“ There’s no danger, really,” argued Dick ; 
“only, you see, I’m a soldier, and soldiers have 
to be extra obedient. Daddy told me so.” 

“ The fog all goes rolling about down there in 
lumps some mornings,” the little girl explained 
poetically. “It looks like grannie’s bed afore 
it’s made.” 

“I hope you’ll teach me into a clever man 
frightful quick,” said Dick suddenly, “ ’cause my 
daddy has to be in India without me, and I ’spect 
he wants me to help him a good lot. So I must 
make haster than most boys.” 

“ My mummy’s frock always sounded like 
when I kick in the leaves,” and Dubby plunged 
knee-deep into a dried heap of the autumn be- 
fore that had never been cleared away, “ or else 
it was her petticoat. I forget. Inja’s such a 
long way, and we was years coming over the sea 
to grannie’s house.” 

“ This is my garden,” observed Dick gravely ; 
“ it isn’t looking very well to-day. Sometimes I 


KENNEL HILL 


123 


think I water it a little too much, only it does 
make the soil neater, doesn’t it ? ” 

“I think it’s drownded,” remarked Dubby 
cheerfully. 

“ It is a little wet,” said Ursula, regarding the 
sloppy patch with interest. 

“ Too wet ! ” And Dick shook his head. 

“Let’s pretend it’s the rains breaking,” sug- 
gested Dubby. 

“ I don’t think it’ll ever be dry again,” in still 
more mournful tones, for Dick was a boy who 
never shirked consequences or shrank from fac- 
ing difficulty and danger. 

“ Oh, yes, it will,” Ursula assured him. “ The 
sun is coming soon through that soft, thin cloud, 
and it will be warm directly.” 

“ Do you know,” and Dick looked up at her 
confidingly, “I am so glad you have come to 
play with me, ’cause, you see, Dubby is rather 
little for being only a girl.” 

“ I aren’t rather little ! ” exclaimed the child 
with a sudden burst of fury, “ I aren’t, I aren’t, 
I aren’t, I feel I aren’t.” Which was Dubby’s 
conclusive method of expression when crossed in 
temper. 

Ursula felt rather helpless, and moreover in- 


124 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


dined to laugh; but the stern little face brought 
her to her senses. 

“ I feel I aren’t,” she repeated in shrill tones. 

“Oh, no; you are very big for your age,” 
Ursula hastened to assure her. 

“The biggest there is,” agreed Dubby in a 
mollified voice. 

“I suppose you are going to be a soldier?” 
Ursula asked Dick, as they wandered together 
down the sloping fields. 

“I am a soldier,” he replied with dignity, 
“ and of course when a boy begins to be a thing 
he isn’t very likely to leave off when he grows 
up.” 

“Of course not,” agreed Ursula. There was 
something very sweet and soothing in the sunny 
atmosphere of this spring garden — something 
restfully amusing in the children’s quaint chatter 
— and an overshadowing influence of higher 
thoughts and aspirations from the gracious lady 
whose home it was. Ursula’s sensitive nature 
responded to it all. She was always so quick to 
catch the tone of surroundings that played upon 
her deeper feelings. It suddenly seemed as if 
she had stepped into a story book, and left the 
hard home life down in Winstow far behind ; 
and yet it was only a few hours before that she 


RENNEL HILL 


125 


had sat at breakfast sympathising with her 
father in his description of his recent attack of 
insomnia, and listening to his complaints at the 
inconvenience her daily absence from home up 
at Rennel Hill was likely to occasion him. 

“I are goin’ to be a soldier too,” remarked 
Dubby, “ ’cause grannie telled us ’bout a lady 
soldier what was called Noah’s Ark.” 

“ ’T wasn’t Noah,” corrected her brother; “it 
was Joanuff.” 

“An’ she lighted bettern all the men,” con- 
tinued the child. 

“ No, she didn’t,” argued Dick ; “ she only 
fought bettern all the women.” 

“ She did ! ” and Dubby stamped her fat foot. 
“ Grannie knowed her quite well, and she did.” 

“ But she died before your grandmother was 
born,” explained Ursula. 

Dick held his head on one side like a sharp 
little bird. 

“ I shouldn’t have thought any one could have 
died before grannie was born,” he said thought- 
fully. 

“ She lighted much braver than the men,” re- 
peated Dubby. “ Grannie telled me so. I shall 
be ’zackly like her when I’m a lady.” 

“ I will read you a long story about her some 


126 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


day,” Ursula promised, “ and about lots of other 
brave people.” 

“ Not difficult words ? ” begged Dubby. 
“ Grannie’s stories have such lots of difficult 
words.” 

“ ’Specially her Sunday ones,” chimed in Dick. 

“ Grannie thinks a great lot on Sundays,” con- 
tinued the little girl, “gener’ly with her eyes 
shut. I don’t like Sundays.” 

“ Why not ? ” Ursula wanted to know. 

“ ’Cause my clothes is clean and tighter, and 
church is werry long.” 

“I don’t like the silentness worse than the 
longness,” Dick explained, “ ’cause I think of 
such ’portant things to say, and grannie won’t 
allow even tiny whispers.” 

“I went with my nurse to her Sunday chapel,” 
said Dubby, “ and she whispered a lot to Clay.” 

“ He’s daddy’s old groom,” interposed Dick. 

“ It wasn’t half so strict as grannie’s church, 
and there was windows to see through, and no 
boys in nightgowns.” 

Ursula leaned against the gate, and looked at 
her two small charges half dreamily. She knew 
now what they reminded her of — two very eager, 
alert little robins, who seemed as if they would 
never grow tired of hopping about. They had 


HENKEL HILL 


127 


faces like robins, with the same bright twinkling 
eyes and the same brown-red colouring and sharp 
features. 

“It’s my birfday in two weeks,” remarked 
Dubby between her efforts to climb up on to the 
gate. “ I shall have a cake with candles on it, as 
many as how old I am.” 

“ I never had a cake with candles on my birth- 
day,” said Ursula. 

“ I ’spect there wouldn’t be an enough big cake 
for all the candles how old you are,” and Dubby 
shook her curly head. 

“ I’ve been thinking,” said Dick suddenly 
“that very old people aren’t quite so pretty. 
In course I don’t mean people who are old 
like you and grannie, but heaps and heaps 
older.” 

“ Who are you thinking of ? ” Ursula wanted 
to know. 

“ The old woman that sells oranges outside the 
station. I bought one off her the last time Clay 
drove me down, and she gave me another. It 
was a bit squashy at one end, but it was very 
kind of her, wasn’t it ? And I thought her face 
seemed a little too wrinkledly, and rather dirty, 
too.” 

“ Nurse says we’re dirty,” exclaimed Dubby. 


128 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“Never mind,” said Ursula; “ I was a dirty 
little girl once, I expect.” 

“ And it came off all right when you growed 
up ? ” and Dubby’s spirits rose again. 

“ She is not at all pretty, I agree with you,” 
said Ursula to Dick ; “ but then she is very, very 
old.” 

“ A good bit older n you ? ” queried Dubby. 

“Oh, yes. Why, how old do you think I 
am?” 

The children both regarded her with their 
birdlike heads on one side. 

“ I guess ninety,” said Dubby at length. 

“ Thirteen ? ” was Dick’s conclusion. 

“ Both wrong,” laughed the girl. “ I am three 
times as old as Dick, and when he knows his 
multiplication table, he will know what that is.” 

“ I’m seven,” and the boy looked thoughtful. 
“ I say,” with a sudden inspiration, “ let’s go into 
the schoolroom and learn multiplication.” 

Ursula thought it a good idea, and they turned 
back towards the house. 

“But your face isn’t a bit like the orange- 
woman’s,” said Dubby kindly. “ I think you and 
Clay has the kindest, prettiest faces I know.” 

“ Clay’s father hasn’t at all a pretty face,” and 
Dick shook his head. 


KENNEL HILL 


129 


“ An’ he growls,” piped in Dubby, “ with a 
great big, deep growling voice what sounds like 
a wolf.” 

“ On Christmas we gave him a shilling,” said 
Dick. 

“ An’ he spat for gladness,” explained his little 
sister. 

“ Which is a thing nurse never would have al- 
lowed.” 

“ Clay’s cheeks is pinker than yours,” continued 
Dubby, “ but you have a werry jolly face,” and 
Ursula laughed at the child’s compliment and the 
remembrance of the pale, pensive reflection she 
was wont to see in her looking-glass. 

“Mr. Carpenter has a very kind face,” ob- 
served Dick, “and a nice smile.” 

“ Do you know him ? ” asked Ursula with sur- 
prise. 

“ Oh ! yes,” said Dick. “ I went with grannie 
to see him, and Miss Carpenter, and he took me 
into the garden, and called me ‘ old man,’ and 
was frightfully jolly. He’s the nicest man I 
know, ’cept daddy in India.” 

All boys made friends with David Carpenter. 
Perhaps because he treated them as reasonable 
beings, and took for granted that they were, in 
their way, as worthy of consideration and respect 


130 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


as he was himself. He would speak to the small- 
est grammar-school boy exactly as he would to 
the biggest university scholar ; and Merton 
Wain wright, in the flush of his first class and 
Civil Service victory, felt almost a little boy 
again as he heard his old master’s short, sincere 
words of praise, just as when he had won a prize 
in his boyhood’s days. They had made him feel 
a successful man already. 

The days at Rennel Hill were all very much 
alike. Ursula grew very fond of the children, 
and fulfilled Mrs. Lyall’s idea, of being friends 
with them, rather, perhaps, than instructor. She 
tried to do her duty, but that wonderful gift of 
imparting possessed knowledge, which makes a 
successful teacher, was not hers. She had indeed 
that child spirit, deep down underneath all the 
burdens with which life had well-nigh crushed 
it out, which is at home among children, and 
knows by instinct exactly how to talk and joke 
and play with them ; and she had, too, a tender 
strain, full-grown before its time, for those who, 
like herself, were weak and helpless and depend- 
ent, whether because of their babyhood, or the 
overpowering circumstances of later life. But of 
the orthodox governess nature Ursula had none. 
It was fortunate for her that Mrs. Lyall loved 


KERNEL HILL 


131 


and lived in the ideal, and so was content with 
the sweet picture of the girl sitting in the garden 
with the children climbing round her, listening 
to the quaint allegory, or fantastic hero-story, 
which was Ursula’s natural way of teaching 
morals or telling history. But far more than her 
time with the children Ursula loved the long 
talks which the old lady had with her when pac- 
ing the garden, or snipping the rose-trees, or 
gathering the flowers — all of which were such 
important items in the day’s work at Rennel Hill. 
She drank in with eager interest the old-world 
stories that Mrs. Lyall had to tell of a girlhood 
long gone by; of great people whom old Sir 
Robert Wakenham knew and introduced to his 
daughters in the diplomatic circles in which their 
lot was cast ; of many a romance, touched with 
the tender hand of memory, and many a tragedy 
buried beneath a bitter smile and a silent tongue, 
and long since crumbled by decay. 

It was such a new world to Ursula, and it all 
seemed so wonderfully fair as she stood watch- 
ing it from such a distant standpoint, and saw 
only the beauty which lingers in the thoughts of 
those to whom it once belonged. Then there 
came new ideals of life, and the girl listened 
raptly to the stories of true lovers and the magic 


132 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


of their love ; and her heart grew stronger and 
purer and finer as she lived under the influence 
of one who at the far end of life has a witness to 
bear of the beauty which is fairer than girlhood, 
and the gladness that is deeper than youth. 

“ Dear child,” said the old lady one day as 
they sat together under the shade of the beech 
trees, soothed by the murmur of the tinkling 
waters far below ; “ let this touch of nature on 
your soul make you quick to see and ready to 
understand.” 

“ It makes me sad and yet comforted,” said 
Ursula with a wondering look. 

“ Sad because the veil is drawn,” continued 
Mrs. Lyall dreamily, “ but comforted because it 
is after all such a thin one and we can see the 
Eternal through.” 

“ I am afraid I can’t,” and the girl spoke sadly ; 
“ I never can feel religious. I don’t know how.” 

The old lady took her hand. 

“ It does not matter much, dear, how you feel, 
the fact of God’s nearness and His goodness can- 
not be touched by a little girl’s ignorance, and 
He will teach you some day, I feel sure.” 

“ I try frightfully hard to believe about Him,” 
and Ursula’s lip trembled. 

“ But that is not knowing Him, dear. Do not 


KENNEL HILL 


133 


try ‘ frightfully hard ’ any more, for to believe 
about any one is hardly worth anything when 
compared with belonging to them in a whole 
heart’s love.” 

“ But why can’t I be good ? ” 

“ I think, my child, that you are good in a way, 
and in so far as you can be at present. But you 
cannot know God until He has revealed Himself 
to you. In countless ways the revelation comes, 
and then you will know that whereas you were 
blind, at last you see.” 

“ When I am sitting up here with you in this 
lovely garden, trying to follow your thoughts and 
see your pictures, it all seems so near and easy. 
But when I get home, and am so tired, it all goes 
far away again, and I feel vexed with father, and 
dreadfully impatient of Georgina Carpenter — 
she is so often at our house now ; and then when 
Gertrude Wain wright talks to me instead of being 
sympathetic, I feel positively sick at the things 
she says. And so, you see, dear Mrs. Lyall, it is 
all in a jumble.” 

“Poor little girl! But never mind. It all 
conies under life’s discipline, and we must never 
shirk or want to escape that. We must want to 
learn through it. Because, dear, you see, it will 
not matter much when God calls us whether we 


134 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


laughed or cried on such and such a day ; but it 
will matter everything if we turned a deaf or 
stupid ear to what He had to say to us then. 
When I was a child, sometimes my lessons used 
to be what we called ‘ turned.’ Let us take care 
that none of the lessons we ought to learn here 
are ‘ turned ’ hereafter.” 

“ I wish I could understand things as you do,” 
said Ursula wistfully. 

“ But, dear, how could you, seeing that you are 
at the other end of life ? When I was your age 
I, too, had little spiritual insight, and I do not 
think I ever thought enough about it to w T ish 
otherwise. But experiences came, and through 
them knowledge. First, I fell in love, and no 
woman has passed out of the elementary stand- 
ard until she has tasted of that wonderful ex- 
perience. Her heart has thus to be opened, and 
from that point a higher growth begins.” 

“ But is all falling in love like that ? I see lots 
of it about me, and some seems sordid, and some 
silly, and very little of it really sacred.” 

“ Perhaps that is because you do not see deep 
enough, my child. An outsider’s opinion is never 
worth much. But there is a touch of the divine 
in all true love. Look out for it, and you may 
see it even in the eyes of the little servant girl 


KENNEL HILL 


135 


on her ‘ Sunday out,’ and wherever you see it, 
stand reverently on one side, for it is wrought by 
the finger of God.” 

“Tell me more,” begged Ursula. 

“ My love story was not a very smooth one,” 
continued the old lady dreamily ; u but I had all 
the more to learn from it for that. And the 
next great teacher that touched my life was pain, 
and his lessons are very hard ones. I think you 
know one or two of them, dear, for I have seen 
the look of suffering sometimes on your face, and 
it has hurt me that you should be called into that 
stern school so young.” 

Ursula laid her cheek against the frail hand 
that Mrs. Lyall rested on her shoulder. 

“ You are very good to me,” she whispered. 

“ And every year brought more knowledge ; in 
sunshine and in shadow it came, and some of it I 
kept, and some, alas ! I let go by.” 

“ Not much, dear Mrs. Lyall ; you are so wise 
and good.” 

“ It seems so, perhaps, to you, my child ; but 
how wonderful it seems to Dick and Dubby when 
you make the sums come right ! It is not really 
so. And by and by I came to the verge of the 
dark valley — so much darker for those who only 
look into it than for the loved ones who pass 


136 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


through,” and the old lady’s eyes filled with 
tears. “It is twenty years now, Ursula, since 
I have been waiting to follow him and take up 
our life again in its perfect completeness on the 
other side.” 

The girl did not speak, and the hum of nature 
only broke the stillness of the air. Then there 
rang out clear and loud a childish laugh, and Ur- 
sula sprang up. “ I will not let them come and 
disturb you now,” she said softly, but Mrs. Lyall 
checked her with a smile. 

“ Do not think, dear, that thoughts of heaven 
make me impatient of what is still so fair and 
sweet on earth. I love the children’s voices and 
their merry, sunny faces, and the quaintness of 
their talk. And Dick is very like his grand- 
father,” she added proudly, “and must grow 
worthy of him.” 

“ Please, grannie,” shouted Dubby as they came 
in sight, “ mayn’t we gather some tea-cabbage ? ” 

“ What is it, my dear ? ” 

“Lettuce for tea,” explained Dick. “Nurse 
says there’s no sense in green-meat for folks that 
aren’t rabbits.” 

“ What a strange idea ! ” observed Mrs. Lyall ; 
“ for myself, indeed, I infinitely prefer vegetable 
food. It is so much less coarse.” 


KENNEL HILL 


137 


“Nurse’s favourite thing to eat is sucking lob- 
ster claws,” remarked Dubby, “on’y she hides 
them under her apron if anybody comes.” 

“ That’s telling, Dubby,” reproved her brother 
stoutly, “ and not fair.” 

“ The boy is right ; ” and Mrs. Lyall’s face lit 
up with pleasure. “ Grandfather would like you 
always to do what is fair, Dick. It was he who 
taught your father the same lesson.” 

“We have never seen grandfather,” Dick re- 
marked to Ursula. 

“ ’Cause he’s in heaven,” piped in Dubby. 

“We cannot see your mother now she is in 
India,” their grandmother explained to the chil- 
dren ; “ but not seeing people does not prevent 
our knowing that they are well and happy, lov- 
ing and thinking about us, and wanting us to be 
good and patient and brave. You can tell Miss 
Grey about your father and mother as I can you 
about your grandfather. Do you understand, 
dears ? ” 

“ Yes, please,” said Dubby politely, while Dick 
turned the matter over in his mind. 

“ Then what’s deadness ? ” he asked thought- 
fully. 

“ I think it is a wrong word, dear,” answered 
his grandmother gently, drawing his eager face 


138 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


against her own as he stood beside her, “ and 
when people use it, it is because they make a mis- 
take. But,” she added dreamily, “it takes a 
long while to learn the right meaning.” 

“ Have you learned it, grannie ? ” 

“Yes, Dick. But then God gave me your 
grandfather to teach me.” 

“ Here or in heaven, grannie ? ” for Dick was 
considering the matter fully. 

“Both, dear,” and she softly kissed his rosy 
cheek. 

“We did jography at lessons,” began Dubby, 
who never liked to be left long out of the con- 
versation. “ I learned a new country.” 

“ What was its name ? ” asked Ursula. 

Dubby’s forehead puckered with thought. 

“ I think it was Peacock,” she said at length. 

“ Oh, what a good guess ! ” laughed Ursula. 
“ It is just that kind of bird, only it has a differ- 
ent name.” 

“ I remember,” interposed Dick scornfully ; 
“ it was Turkey, of course.” 

“ I knowed it was big, and strutted,” exclaimed 
the little girl triumphantly, “ I settled it in my 
mind.” 

“ I am afraid,” began Ursula sadly, as Dick 
and his sister darted off in pursuit of a butterfly, 


KENNEL HILL 


139 


“ that I am not clever enough to do the children 
justice, dear Mrs. Lyall. I feel that I am failing 
from the lessons point of view, and Dick is such 
a bright boy, he ought to have better teaching. 
I am so sorry,” and the girl’s lips quivered. 

Her friend looked up with a smile. 

“ Do not fret, little girl,” she said kindly. “ I 
understand all that you mean and feel. But I 
like to have you with the children all the same. 
Suppose we ask Mr. Carpenter to come up and 
give Dick some lessons twice a week? Will not 
that ease your conscience and make things smooth 
in that troubled mind of yours ? And it will 
be best for the boy to have a man to deal with.” 

“ How good and kind you are ! ” said Ursula 
softly. 

But as she walked home that afternoon she 
felt very down and tired. She had failed, and 
she knew it, though Mrs. Lyall had covered the 
conviction with such tender hands. And it 
seemed to Ursula as if, in spite of all her efforts, 
there was something too strong for her to fight 
against in the battle of life. She loved Mrs. 
Lyall for wanting her to stay with the children, 
for Ursula was too well-bred ever to resent a 
kindness for fear of the sense of obligation. In- 
deed, she drew nearer to people who were kind 


140 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


to her with a feeling of gratitude that warmed, 
rather than the chill intolerance of favours, 
which smaller and less fine-fibred natures pride 
themselves on possessing. She only longed to 
be able to do more — not for the earning of a 
wage, but for the expression of a grateful love. 

The heavy warmth of late spring in that mild 
west country made the long walk up and back 
again too much for her frail strength. Moreover 
the play with the children and their incessant 
chatter all the day through took it out of her in 
too great measure ; and the yearnings and feelings 
roused by Mrs. Lyall’s influence beat too strongly 
along the girl’s throbbing nerves. 

In a strange,, helpless weariness she sat down 
on the trunk of a fallen tree by the wayside, and 
her tired thoughts tried to find a momentary 
resting-place; but everywhere there was work. 
Work in the home thoughts of small economies 
and careful planning, and the difficulty of keep- 
ing her father happy and amused ; work even in 
the nice thoughts about Merton — of how she 
should grow up into his fuller, richer life, and 
learn all the ways to which he in London was be- 
coming accustomed ; work in the Rennel Hill 
life, the power to do which seemed slipping from 
her stupid hands ; work in the deeper thoughts 


REHNEL HILL 


141 


which the old lady’s words stirred up, of how 
to find out these treasures of the soul, and not 
let slip the fleeting chances of life. Hot even 
rest in the stretch of nature before her, for the 
bursting life of spring had swept over the land 
and the hills, broke forth before it into singing, 
and all the trees of the fields clapped their hands. 
So Ursula sat on in utter weariness of mind and 
body, in despair of ever being able to take the 
stand to which she felt she was called. David 
Carpenter, on his way home from afternoon 
school, stopped in sudden amazement at the sight 
of her thus. 

“ What is the matter ? ” he asked abruptly. 

Ursula’s eyes filled with tears of weakness. 

“ I am so tired,” she said. 

He stood looking at her in silence, and she, 
catching the concern on his face, smiled a wan 
little smile. 

“ It is foolish of me,” she explained, “ but I am 
a bit done up.” 

David frowned fiercely. “ You had no busi- 
ness to be ! ” he muttered below his breath. 

“ I can’t help it,” and the silly tears welled up 
again. “ Don’t scold me.” 

David flushed up to the roots of his thick black 
hair. 


142 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ Wliat can I do for you ? ” he asked. 

“ Nothing, thanks ! I shall be all right when 
I have rested for a little. But — oh, Mr. 
Carpenter! I have failed again, and it does 
hurt so.” 

“ How do you mean ? ” and he slashed the 
grass and wayside weeds savagely with his stick. 

“I cannot really teach, and so — and so Mrs. 
Lyall is going to ask you to come and do the 
work. Don’t tell your sister — will you ? — the 
reason why.” 

“ Of course not. But you are still to go up to 
Rennel Hill ? ” 

“ Yes ; Mrs. Lyall is so good and kind. I shall 
always love her for it. But — Dick is only seven, 
and yet I can’t teach well enough even for him.” 
And the girl’s head dropped like a broken- 
stemmed flower. 

“ And why should you ? ” David’s voice 
sounded almost stern. “ You are not strong 
enough to bear the wear and tear of such a life — 
it sometimes fags even me, and look at my phy- 
sique. Besides, it is better for a boy to rub up 
against a man in school work. Don’t bother 
yourself,” he added shyly ; “ ’tisn’t worth while. 
And you’ll have quite enough work driving the 
little chap through his preparation — and it will 


KENNEL HILL 143 

be better for both of you to — ” and then he 
stopped. 

“ Have a master,” added Ursula with a smile. 
“ It will be like old days again almost, won’t 
it?” And her small face looked wonderfully 
like the little girl’s that David remembered so 
well at Miss Paterson’s school. 

“Don’t go just yet,” as he made a sudden 
movement. 

“ Are you going to faint or anything of that 
kind ? ” he asked in a helpless kind of way. 

“Of course not. I believe you are frightened 
of me ! ” and she smiled again. 

“ I know ! ” he exclaimed. “ I will get you a 
glass of milk from that cottage. It is only a 
few minutes down the lane. You won’t mind 
my going there ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! The milk will be nice.” 

Ursula wondered in an idle kind of way how 
he possibly could have gone to the cottage and 
back in the few minutes during which he was 
absent. But then he had very long legs. 

“ That is so refreshing ! ” she said gratefully as 
she drained the glass. “ It was good of you to 
fetch it.” 

“ Don’t go to Kennel Hill again until you are 
better,” and David’s brow puckered. 


141 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ I shall be better to-morrow.” 

“ And don’t play with those noisy youngsters 
these first warm days.” 

“What a lot of good advice you are giving 
me!” said Ursula lightly. “I feel so much bet- 
ter now, I can go on home.” 

“ Sure ? ” queried David. 

“ Perfectly. Thank you so much. I don’t 
know what I should have done if you had not 
come my way. That is one of the compensa- 
tions for being stupid and weak — people are so 
good to you.” 

David Carpenter stood watching her as she 
walked on down into the distance. And when 
at last a twist in the road hid her from his sight, 
he turned back and followed in her track. As 
he reached the outskirts of Winstow he met 
Georgina hurrying home. 

“ Why ! what brings you going the wrong 
way ? ” she exclaimed sharply. 

“ I have to go back into the town,” said David 
vaguely. Why, he hardly knew himself, and he 
would not have told Georgina if he had. It 
saved so much trouble when his sister could be 
kept out of his concerns. David was quite 
enough of a man to go his own way independ- 
ently of all Georgina’s strictures; but he was 


KENNEL HILL 


145 


also man enough to detest a noisy woman’s in- 
dignation, and so to avoid the expression of it as 
much as possible. 

“Well, make haste, or you will be late for tea. 
Indeed, you are that now. And I should advise 
you to sharpen your memory in the future. 
Your head should save your heels, but men are 
so stupid ! ” Then as he was moving off, she 
added, “ Let me go back for you, David, if it is 
anything I can do. I have not had nearly so 
much walking as you have to-day, and no doubt 
you are tired. And I can easily hurry back into 
the town, and be home by the time you have 
done mooning round your books.” 

“ No, thank you,” began David, but she inter- 
rupted him. 

“ You haven’t a bit of sense, or notion of tak- 
ing care of yourself. I insist upon going,” and 
her voice rose. 

“ You cannot,” he replied, slightly frowning 
as he turned on his heel. And he went on, ob- 
livious of the unselfishness of Georgina’s offer in 
his irritation at her manner of proffering it. So 
do women like Georgina continually spoil the 
purity of their motives by the ugliness of their 
methods. 

David Carpenter found Ursula and her father 


146 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 

at tea. He felt that he must know of her safe 
arrival. 

“ Come in,” cried the girl as he passed the 
window. And then she shook her head at him 
and held a warning finger to her lips. 

“ Are you better ? ” he blurted out, not notic- 
ing her signs. 

“ Better ! ” exclaimed Mr. Grey in an injured 
voice at any one’s health being inquired after 
before his own — “ Ursula’s quite well; aren’t 
you, child ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, father. I was only a little tired, 
and Mr. Carpenter found me resting on the way. 
That made me late.” 

“ She ought not to go up that long pull to 
Rennel Hill to-morrow ? ” persisted David. 

“ Pooh, pooh ! Carpenter ! ” said Mr. Grey ; 
“ Ursula can take care of herself. She is look- 
ing remarkably .well, in my opinion, this even- 
ing.” 

The effort to laugh and talk had brought a 
little feverish flush on to the girl’s pale cheeks. 

“ Spring is a trying time, Mr. Grey.” 

“It is indeed. You cannot think how much it 
affects my rheumatism. I can hardly move my 
left arm. And it is so much worse, too, in the 
nights. I think the damp rises from the river. 


KENNEL HILL 


147 


This house lies a little low for me, but we have 
to make the best of things in this world.” 

“Have some tea?” said Ursula, meeting 
David’s glance with a smile. 

“No, thank you; I must be getting home,” 
and he looked grimly at the table with its very 
meagre show of provisions. David would almost 
have eaten everything up at one mouthful, and 
in a blundering way he felt somehow distressed 
that Ursula was not sitting down to a richer 
board. 

“Yes, you are right,” mused Mr. Grey; 
“spring is a trying time. Perhaps that ac- 
counts for my feeling so extra unwell of late. 
Ursula can hardly tempt my appetite, even with 
the extra little delicacies that she makes herself 
— and there is a languor through one’s whole 
being. But you are one of those fortunate men, 
Carpenter, who are always strong and well. It 
is a great boon is health. I wish I knew where 
to seek it.” But it is doubtful whether Mr. Grey 
would have pursued the investigation even if he 
had. 

“ Summer will be here soon,” said Ursula hope- 
fully, “and then we shall all be quite well.” 

“Tut, tut, Ursula! It is not for young folks 
to be affected by the seasons or weather or such 


148 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


like, and I don’t like to hear you talk as if you 
were. It is different when you come to my 
age.” 

“ Good-bye,” David interposed. 

“It is very kind of you to call and inquire 
after me,” continued Mr. Grey. “Your sister 
would doubtless tell you of my recent attack.” 

“ Take care of yourself,” said David shortly. 

“ I will try, only it is such a burden ! ” an- 
swered Mr. Grey. But David was looking at 
Ursula as he spoke. 


CHAPTER VI 


TOWN LIFE 

When Merton first entered a government 
office he had a vague impression that it would be 
a fairy palace of power, wherein laws were made 
as easily as quill pens, and the staff thereof as 
giants ruling in their strength. And though he 
soon learned that fairy palaces are not to be 
found in Whitehall more than anywhere else in 
this working-day world, he took an absorbing in- 
terest in the acquirement of the new work there ; 
grasping it so thoroughly, and becoming so 
quickly a master of all its branches, that he 
secured the approval of his superior officer, and 
rapidly won a reputation for ability and industry. 
So that, when an unexpected series of promotions 
created a vacancy in the office of private secre- 
tary to Mr. Mandeville, to Merton’s great delight 
he was selected to fill the post. He felt an awe- 
stricken admiration, which clutched at his throat 
and heated his brow, as he was first ushered into 
the august presence of the head of the depart- 
ment ; but human nature is still to be found even 
149 


150 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


within such lordly precincts, and it was not long 
before Merton discovered that Mr. Mandeville 
was a man first and a cabinet minister after- 
wards, and that such trifles as opening a letter 
with one’s thumb instead of with the prescribed 
paper-knife, and putting a letter on one table 
which belonged by right to another, were enough 
to ruffle the calm of a mind which compassed the 
government of countries and the diplomacy of 
courts. Moreover, it was a further shock to the 
young man to find that this fresh work appar- 
ently made no demands on the stores of knowl- 
edge which he had been obliged to lay up for its 
attainment. 

“ Reading and writing and a little arithmetic 
is all that is needed as far as I can see,” he 
thought somewhat ruefully, as he sealed up a 
batch of letters which were all he had to show 
for a full day’s work. This was after his pleas- 
ure in posting unstamped letters had begun to 
wear commonplace. For all delight in outside 
things so quickly fades, just as delight in inside 
ones never does. A proof that it is the inside 
joys — knowing and feeling and loving — which are 
the eternal ones, and those with which our lives, 
both here and hereafter, shall be most surely 
blessed. 


TOWN LIFE 


151 


“ Oh, my dears,” exclaimed Mrs. Wainwright 
on the receipt of Merton’s first letter after his 
appointment, which bore the big royal crest and 
came without the official stamp, “it gives me 
quite a turn to see such an envelope, for it seems 
as if the lad had done wrong, and yet was some- 
how too grand to be blamed for it.” 

“ But it is his right to be able to send letters 
now without stamps,” argued Gladys. “ I am 
sure if I were Merton I should write to every- 
body I could think of just to show them what a 
swell I am.” 

“ He is not doing wrong, I am sure I hope,” 
continued the anxious mother. “Young people 
are a bit apt to get carried off their feet, and 
I shouldn’t like Merton to presume in any 
way.” 

“Presume fiddlesticks ! ” chimed in Mr. Wain- 
wright testily. “ It is poor enough pay for such 
a high and mighty office even with a few penny 
stamps thrown in.” 

“The paper is something beautiful, isn’t it, 
papa?” and Mrs. Wainwright handed him the 
letter. “That lovely lion and unicorn fighting 
for the crown has such a style of its own.” 

“ Leave the envelope on the mantelpiece,” sug- 
gested Gladys, “so that the Holts can see it 


152 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


when they call. Beatrice told me they were 
coming this afternoon.” 

When the first enthusiasm for his work was 
wearing off, and Merton had learned to arrive at 
his office not earlier than eleven o’clock, which in 
his youth and innocence he began to do at half- 
past nine, he was filled with a somewhat 
tremulous joy by an invitation to dine at his 
chiefs house on the following Wednesday. 

“ Rather short notice, Wain wright. But you 
must excuse that, and do Lady Clementina a good 
turn by filling a vacant place for her. Little 
Johnny Upton has tumbled off his pony and 
broken a collar bone or a rib or something.” 

“ Poor little chap ! ” exclaimed Merton, won- 
dering why a small boy was going out to a din- 
ner-party. 

Mr. Mandeville looked up surprised : — 

“ Do you know Johnny ? ” he asked. 

“No, sir.” 

“ He is six foot four in his socks,” continued 
Mr. Mandeville quietly, “ and rides sixteen stone. 
That is why every one calls him little Johnny 
Upton, I suppose. His horse slipped at Hyde 
Park Corner. Might have been a nasty spill.” 

“ I shall be very glad to come. Please thank 
Lady Clementina, and say how extremely good I 


TOWN LIFE 


153 


think it is of her to ask me. What time is din- 
ner, sir ? ” 

u Oh, usual time,” replied the great man 
absently, and Merton dared not ask him what that 
might be, though he could not himself feel cer- 
tain. After a good deal of thought on the sub- 
ject he decided on a quarter before eight, and ar- 
rived in Grosvenor Square at that time. The 
drawing-room was empty and the butler pity- 
ingly reproachful, but just then a girl came in 
with a large bunch of roses in her hand, and 
Merton thought he had never seen so fair a vision 
before. 

Yiolet Mandeville was a tall, rather pretty, 
golden-haired girl, but it was the beauty of her 
white frock and the indescribable something 
about her whole appearance which is due to the 
skill of a well-trained maid that appealed so 
strongly to Merton. He had never been accus- 
tomed to that look in his own world, and so it 
was not a matter of course to him that hair 
should be so daintily dressed, and clothes so be- 
comingly made. 

“ I am too early,” he hastily explained. “ I 
did not know what time dinner was. I am so 
sorry. My name is Wain wright, and I am Mr. 
Mandeville’s private secretary.” 


154 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ Oh ! it’s all right,” exclaimed the girl pleas- 
antly, “only it’s always the way with father. 
He is so stupid about social things. But I am 
glad you have come. You can help me to ar- 
range these roses. Aren’t they jolly ones, and 
with such good figures too ? I hate roses cut 
only for their faces — it makes them like cherubs 
and postage stamps.” 

“ But doesn’t it rather impoverish the trees 
cutting so much wood with each bloom?” 

“ Oh ! what does that matter ? ” and she 
stepped back a pace or two to judge of the effect 
of her handiwork, “ there are plenty more. 
Wouldn’t you like one for your buttonhole? 
Here is a bud specially made for a buttonhole.” 
And Merton’s pulses beat considerably faster as 
she pinned the dainty little nosegay in his coat. 

He used to imagine that the gift of a rose 
meant so much, and the wearing of it a pledge 
of something that had not yet been put into 
words, though none the less real for that. For 
to put thoughts and feeling into words some- 
times hampers and distorts them, and we want a 
more delicate and subtle language to accurately 
convey to each other the countless shades and 
variations of these complex characters of ours. 

“ How do you like being father’s private sec- 


TOWN LIFE 


155 


retary ?” continued Violet in a confidential voice, 
which the young man thought particularly de- 
lightful. 

“Immensely. Mr. Mandeville has been most 
kind to me.” 

“ Oh ! he always means well,” replied his 
daughter frankly, “and I suppose he can’t help 
being a little stupid and tiresome at times. But 
I must confess that it is a marvel to me how a 
man who isn’t clever enough to carve a fowl 
can be clever enough to govern a country.” 

Merton caught his breath at this style of con- 
versation. The head of his department was 
still such a tremendous personage in the young 
man’s eyes. 

“ But you should just see him try to carve a 
hare,” Violet went on. “ It is such a superb 
effort. And the only drawback is that he never 
can get enough off it to feed even one person. 
Now when the butler carves it, five of us have 
enough and to spare. Do you think the clever- 
ness lies in father or the butler in this instance ? ” 

Merton laughed, and felt delightfully at ease 
with this inerry-faced girl. 

“ I suppose father is cleverer than the butler,” 
she remarked demurely, “ or else Stanton would 
be a secretary of state too. And that would 


156 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


be more than we could bear. One secretary of 
state in a family is quite enough. Don’t you 
think so ? ” 

Merton had never heard any one talk non- 
sense before. Indeed he had been brought up to 
consider that nonsense had no place in civilised 
conversation. But Violet Mandeville was de- 
cidedly civilised, and yet this nonsense sounded 
absolutely charming from her laughing lips. 

“It is going to be a dreadfully heavy party 
to-night, Mr. Wain wright. We shall have to 
try the alphabet system, I feel sure.” 

“ And what is that ? ” asked Merton eagerly. 

“ It is an invention of Yictoria’s. Yictoria is 
my eldest sister, and if she had been a boy she 
would have been a Lord Chancellor or an Arch- 
bishop of Canterbury, or something equally won- 
derful, by now. At least, that is what father 
always says when he is regretting her sex. 
Dicky isn’t either, you know. And somehow, 
between ourselves, I am afraid he never will 
be, if it is as difficult as squeezing through the 
militia into the army, which he has just accom- 
plished by means of a miracle and a war and an 
uncle who is one of the generals in command.” 

“ But about the alphabet ? ” repeated the young 


man. 


TOWN LIFE 


157 


“ Oh, yes ! I had forgotten that. Well, you 
see, it is like this. We start subjects alphabetic- 
ally, and the one who gets furthest on into the 
alphabet has had the dullest man to take her in. 
I always have academy for A, but Victoria says 
that is dreadfully unoriginal of me. She has a 
new A at every party, such as the army, or as- 
ceticism, or art ; but then Victoria is frightfully 
clever.” 

“ And what for B ? ” 

“ Oh, books ; that is easy enough — or bicycles. 
Here comes Victoria,” as another girl entered 
the room. “ I have been telling Mr. Wain wright 
about your alphabet system, Vic. What shall 
you have for B to-night ? ” 

Victoria Mandeville was much shorter and 
darker than her sister, and though not so good- 
looking she was equally stylish and well-dressed. 

“ Who is to take me in ? ” she asked, after 
shaking hands with Merton. 

“Sir Joseph Elkin,” replied her sister, consult- 
ing a written list. 

“ Then it will be biliousness,” exclaimed Vic- 
toria glibly, “ and I don’t expect I shall get any 
further than that. Sir Joseph is so often bilious, 
and, what is more, he owns to it, which always 
strikes me as singularly heroic. But it brings 


158 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


its own reward, nevertheless, for he does so 
enjoy detailing all the symptoms, poor dear. 
And he has to be so careful about his diet. At 
least, he says so, otherwise I shouldn’t have 
known it, because I have sat next him at dinner 
lots of times.” 

“ But he must eat something,” suggested Vio- 
let. 

“Yes, dear. And because he must I suppose 
he does. Do you always do what you must?” 
and she appealed to Merton. 

“ I hope so,” he answered, smiling. 

“Then you make a great mistake,” and Vic- 
toria shook her dainty little forefinger at him. 
“Believe me, it is the thin end of the wedge. 
We always tell father it will land him in the 
House of Lords one of these days if he doesn’t 
take care, and that makes him dreadfully hot 
and nervous. But you must speak sternly to 
your parents sometimes for their own good, you 
know.” 

“We are always kind but firm with ours,” 
chimed in Violet, “ and mother is really a credit 
to any child. She never dreams of asking whom 
one’s letters are from, or where you bought the 
flowers you are wearing, or whom you saw when 
you were out.” 


TOWN LIFE 


159 


“ But we cannot have many mothers like she 
is” 

“I wish we could have one father,” sighed 
Yiolet. “I would not ask for more. Just think, 
if only father never asked us questions how 
much easier this life would be ! ” 

“ And the next,” added Victoria, “ if we have 
to pay the penalty of all our prevarications. 
Oh, dear me ! what trials one’s parents may be ! 
And yet it seems selfish never to have any. 
And I do hate selfishness in family life. I am 
frightfully unselfish, aren’t I, Violet ? You’ll be- 
gin to notice it when you are a little more inti- 
mate with us, Mr. Wainwright.” 

Merton had not an idea what to say to all this 
badinage, but he enjoyed it in a wonderful, new 
way that he could not possibly have described. 
J okes and laughter had had such a small place in 
his life up till now, except such as his sisters in- 
dulged in, which always rubbed him the wrong 
way and made him slightly disgusted. So he 
had grown up to despise merriment as vulgar, 
and to believe himself superior to amusement. 
Ursula was well bred, but she was never funny ; 
and so he had concluded the two were incom- 
patible. The upsetting of this theory before he 
had been ten minutes with the Mandeville girls 


160 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


was a delightful experience ; for Merton, together 
with most people, really enjoyed being made to 
laugh. And this without any social sacrifice 
seemed almost too good to be true. 

“Nobody has ever gone past L in the alpha- 
bet,” began Victoria thoughtfully, as she wres- 
tled with the multitude of buttons on her glove, 
“ because no woman ever can get beyond so en- 
grossing a subject as lovers, nor man beyond the 
still more engrossing one of livers. There really 
is nothing else important for either of them to 
talk about.” 

“ I would rather talk about lovers than livers, 
any day,” said Merton, feeling suddenly cleverer 
than he had ever done in his life before, which 
was saying a good deal considering his past suc- 
cesses. 

“Then you are a strange man,” and Victoria’s 
merry blue eyes twinkled as she glanced up at 
him ; “ or else rather a young one, you know,” 
she added quietly. 

“ I never met a man who talked about lovers 
in the abstract,” Violet interposed. 

“ It isn’t in the abstract that they talk about 
livers either, my dear child,” corrected her elder 
sister. “You see, it is like this. Before a man 
is in love he doesn’t know enough about lovers 


TOWN LIFE 


161 


to talk about them, and after he is in love he 
knows too much to talk about them, so where 
are you ? But a woman is different. She can 
always talk about things, whether she knows 
anything about them or not. And that saves a 
world of trouble, and makes us such nice, inter- 
esting, adaptable creatures. But how fearfully 
late every one is to-night ! It is nearly half-past 
eight, and I am so hungry.” 

“ It is a good thing, because mother is wearing 
a new frock, and it is always so difficult to get 
into a new gown.” 

“Until there is a proper entrance made by 
traffic,” added Victoria. “But here she comes, 
with the Lessingtons on her heels ! ” 

And Merton fell into the background as the 
room quickly filled, and the buzz of chatter grew 
louder, until the mystic silence that indicates the 
announcement of dinner fell upon the crowd for 
an instant, and then broke into a murmur of talk 
from the departing couples, swelling like a rip- 
pling stream which is soon to reach a roaring 
sea below. 

Merton had never enjoyed anything so much 
in his life before as that dinner-party. He took 
Violet down ; and she talked to hirr^ so brightly 
and so intimately, that he felt h£ had suddenly 


162 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


been lifted into another world, wherein there 
was waiting for him a proper place. The Man- 
devilles possessed that social instinct which 
makes everybody feel at home and all their 
entertainments a success. And it amazed Mer- 
ton to discover how easy it was to make friends 
with people to whom society is a science and en- 
joyment an art. 

“ Come and see us again soon,” said Yictoria 
graciously, taking a seat near him in the draw- 
ing-room afterwards. “We are always at home 
on Sundays.” 

“ I should like to awfully.” And Merton 
spoke sincerely. 

Now Yictoria Mandeville had that way of 
speaking to every man which made him feel as 
if he were the one man in the world to her ; and 
perhaps he was — for a time, though the length 
of that time varied from three minutes to quite 
six months. 

“ We ought to see a great deal of each other, 
you know,” she continued, with her pleasant 
smile, “ because being father’s private secretary 
makes you a kind of relation of ours, doesn’t it ? 
And since Dicky went abroad we are rather 
hard up for masculine relations. Pat is only a 
schoolboy.” 


TOWN LIFE 


163 


Merton flushed with pleasure. The idea of 
being related to the Mandevilles, though only in 
imagination, was the most piquant and delicious 
one that she could have suggested. Now Vic- 
toria, whose quick eyes read people’s secrets 
with wonderful accuracy, knew this perfectly 
well, and it was a genuine wish to give him 
pleasure, as well as to make herself attractive to 
him, that prompted her to set about healing the 
one sore place from which she knew this young 
man suffered. 

“You are most kind, Miss Mandeville.” And 
then waxing confidential, “ I hardly know any 
one yet in London except a few men I was with 
at the ’Varsity.” 

“ Oh, it always takes a little time to feel at 
home in a new place,” said Victoria, to whom 
the idea of London as a “ new place ” was really 
incomprehensible. “But you must cease to re- 
gard us as strangers, and drop in often. Mother 
will be so glad if you will. You were at Oxford, 
I do hope ? ” 

“ Oh ! yes. I got a scholarship at Oriel.” 

“ A scholarship ! ” she exclaimed. “ How 
clever and delightful and wonderful of you! 
I don’t think I have ever met any one before 
who had won a real live scholarship in the 


164 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


memory of man — or rather in the memory of 
woman, which doesn’t usually extend over many 
years. But wasn’t it frightfully difficult ? ” 

“ Oh, no ! ” And Merton’s face positively 
glowed with pride and pleasure. “Not half so 
difficult as the Civil Service exam.” 

“ I can’t think why there need be such tire- 
some things as examinations at all. Women 
never pass examinations, and yet they know 
everything that is necessary. My father’s 
brother is a judge, and he has often taken me 
into court. Well, I always knew whether the 
prisoner was innocent or guilty during the first 
five minutes, so what on earth was the use of all 
the fuss and prosiness of a trial ? ” 

“ But how did you know, Miss Mandeville ? ” 

“ By intuition, of course. There is no other 
way of really knowing anything — except, I sup- 
pose, by the old-fashioned system of experience, 
which is quite out of date. I remember a trial 
about obtaining money under false pretences, in 
which a young woman took in Uncle Edward 
and a whole tableful of barristers just because 
her hair was golden. I supposed they proved it 
by Euclid, or logic, or something equally absurd 
— Euclid did own to being absurd sometimes, 
didn’t he? — that as angels have golden hair, 


TOWN LIFE 165 

so the aforesaid golden hair denotes an angel. 

Q. E. D.” 

44 4 Which is absurd ’ you should quote, instead 
of Q. E. D.” 

44 It always seems to me silly of Euclid to 
waste so much time in proving impossible things, 
almost as silly as the people who learn them.” 

“ But we are obliged to,” began Merton, with 
the thought of examinations fresh in his mind, 
but Victoria went on : 

44 As I was saying, of course I knew the person 
was a fraud the moment I entered the court, so 
what was the use of having a judge and a trial 
and a prosecution and a defence and witnesses 
and barristers ad libitum , when I should have 
done just as well — in fact much better, for 
the young woman got off, and it was a year 
before she was caught red-handed in a similar 
act ? ” 

44 But then you are specially clever, I expect.” 

44 1 have several specialities, Mr. Wain wright. 
My father once said I was the most inaccurate 
woman that had ever been created. I felt quite 
proud of being a chef d'oeuvre in any direction. 
I suppose I inherit it from him. He is consid- 
ered one of the greatest financiers in the present 
government, you know.” 


166 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ Your sister told me all the people at dinner,” 
began Merton, already copying the Mandevilles’ 
confidential tone, “ but I forget the name of that 
lady in green who is talking to Mr. Mandeville 
now.” 

“ Oh, that is Lilia Langbridge. She is one of 
those tiresome women who belong to the Intelli- 
gence Department of Society, and are always 
imparting information — real, solid information 
about countries and climates and trade winds 
and exports, and all the things one learned in 
the geography books of one’s youth, but ought 
to have forgotten long ago. Poor father ! He 
is playing with his watch-chain. That means he 
can’t hold out much longer. It’s time his rela- 
tions were sent for, so I’ll go and rescue him be- 
fore it’s too late.” 

“ And what shall I do ? ” asked Merton. 

“ Oh, I will bring Lilia over to you. Pull 
yourself together, and be a man, Mr. Wain- 
wright, and think of all the heroes you have 
heard of from Casabianca onwards.” 

So she flitted across the room, and with the 
grace of perfect ease effected a readjustment of 
couples in a way that filled Merton with aston- 
ished admiration. 

On the following Sunday, which seemed a long 


TOWN LIFE 


167 


while in coming, Merton presented himself once 
more in Grosvenor Square. The drawing-room 
was full of people, but Lady Clementina, as well 
as her daughters, welcomed him with so much 
graciousness that he felt the delightful sensation 
of being really wanted even in this new and 
fashionable world. It was this innate friendli- 
ness that made people so ready to forgive Lady 
Clementina for her often school-girlish frivolity, 
and also enhanced the brilliant charm of her 
clever daughters by establishing the fact that no 
one need ever be afraid of them. 

“ How nice of you to come and see us so 
soon ! ” exclaimed Victoria from behind the tea- 
table, round which a crowd of men clustered, 
“ but I am not going to let you have any tea for 
a long while yet. Partly because this is cold, 
and partly because you will not be able to run 
away until you have had some. So you must be 
patient, like a dog ‘ on trust.’ I always think 
that is such an idiotic game to play with a sensi- 
ble quadruped, because nobody could ever wait 
to eat their meals until they are paid for unless 
they lived in A B C shops.” 

“ And things to eat you pay for are so very 
indigestible as a rule,” drawled one of the group, 
“you couldn’t possibly live on them for long. 


168 THE WORLD AND W1NSTOW 

Buns and station sandwiches ! What a death to 
die ! ” 

“ I saw an account in the paper the other day 
of a woman who died from overeating. Wasn’t 
it horrid and Henry-the-Firstish ? I would 
sooner die of anything else there is to die of.” 

“Well, my dear Yic,” chimed in Violet, who 
had just drawn near with an empty cup, “that 
seems to me a matter in which you will he al- 
lowed a choice. It rests entirely with yourself to 
avoid such a doom.” 

“I hope Lady Langbridge doesn’t want any 
more tea ? ” asked Yictoria, “ because this is 
quite cold.” 

“ Oh, it isn’t,” said her sister soothingly. 
“ Here, let me feel,” and she dipped the end of 
her little finger in the teapot. 

“Your methods are original, Miss Yiolet,” 
whispered one of the young men. 

“And very disgusting, dear,” added Yictoria. 

“They are not,” argued Yiolet; “because, 
don’t you see ? if the tea is cool enough for me 
to bear my finger in, it is obviously too cold for 
any one to drink. But if it is too hot for my 
immersion there is no harm done. I think it a 
splendid plan, don’t you?” and she appealed 
with a charming smile to Merton, who had been 


TOWN LIFE 


169 


listening to Victoria and looking at Violet ever 
since he entered the room. 

“Major Trayne has just told me,” continued 
Victoria to the group, while Merton’s eyes fol- 
lowed her pretty younger sister across the room, 
“ that he is never going to marry. Isn’t it 
stupid and dull of him ? ” 

“ It would be stupider and duller if I did,” 
argued the culprit, looking up lazily from the 
contemplation of his patent leather boots. 
“ That is why I arrived at my present decision. 
I simply couldn’t face the thought of dining 
with the same person every day for a year even. 
And longer ! ” And he threw up his hands. 

“Well, between ourselves,” replied Victoria, 
“ and all you other people mustn’t listen — it 
would be rather awful. I never thought of that, 
but when Sir William Murphy took me down at 
three dinner parties running it was insupport- 
able.” 

“ But then you would not probably have been 
married to Sir William Murphy,” suggested 
young Lord Windermere. 

“Of course not,” and Victoria laughed her 
clear little laugh. “ What a clever boy you are ! 
You ought to go into Parliament and be some- 
body’s under-secretary, because you can find the 


170 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


answers to questions so splendidly. You make 
up father’s answers, don’t you, Mr. Wain wright 
— those that make him seem so wise and omnis- 
cient ? ” 

Merton was just beginning to explain that this 
part of the work fell to one of his superiors, 
when Victoria rattled on : 

“ And if you married any one, you never would 
take her into dinner, you see, Major Trayne. 
So that objection falls to the ground.” 

“Ah, but, Miss Mandeville, there is a more 
deeply -seated reason still,” and he helped himself 
to another sandwich. “ I am overworked and 
require rest. I could not possibly look after a 
wife ; and yet I could not bear the sort of wife 
that does not require looking after. No, the 
whole thing is fraught with difficulty, and the 
only solution is — remain as I am.” 

“ It isn’t a bad idea,” said Victoria, looking up 
at him with a half-smile ; and then with seeming 
irrelevance she added, “ I went with my little 
sisters to a dancing-class the other day, and every 
time the music stopped the mistress called out, 
6 Young ladies, as you were ! ’ It struck me as a 
specially wise attitude. Perhaps a little difficult 
at times, but dancing-classes and life are supposed 
to teach some difficult steps.” 


TOWN LIFE 


171 


“ Advance and retire,” quoted Arthur Trayne. 
“ Yes, I have done both before setting to part- 
ners and making my bow.” 

“ Mr. Wain wright,” said Yiolet suddenly at his 
elbow, “ let us have a picnic ; and bring me some 
tea as well as your own to that little table. Ad- 
miral Kingston is sure to stay quite three hours, 
and we must be strong to relieve each other on 
guard. Mother has him now, but I must be built 
up to step into her place when she drops with 
exhaustion.” 

Merton remembered how he used to contemn 
afternoon tea as a meal; but taken under a 
palm in a corner of the Mandevilles’ drawing- 
room, in company with such a charming com- 
panion, was an experience by no means to be 
despised. 

“ Don’t you love London ? ” she asked sud- 
denly, helping herself to a sugared cake. 

“No! Yes! I think so,” stammered Merton, 
whose feelings were somewhat in a whirl. “ It 
was just a little dull at first after Oxford, you 
know.” 

“ London can’t be dull for long,” she remarked 
emphatically, in her utter ignorance of that dull, 
grey, grinding world of work that lies below the 
gaily-coloured one of society. “ It is just packed 


172 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


cramful of treats, as you will soon find out for 
yourself ! Victoria and I simply love it.” 

“ Should you mind if I asked you an imperti- 
nently curious question ? ” said Merton, in a sud- 
den burst of confidence. 

“ Of course not,” replied his companion 
pleasantly. 

“ Is your sister engaged to that man she is 
talking to over there ? ” And Merton’s face 
flushed a little at his own audacity. 

Violet looked across the room. 

“ I don’t think so,” she said thoughtfully ; 
“ not to that one. At least, now I come to think 
of it, she is not engaged to any one just now.” 

Merton’s face expressed intense astonishment. 

“ I hope you are not offended with me for ask- 
ing ? ” he pleaded penitently. 

“ Offended ! ” and she laughed merrily. “ How 
could I be at such a simple little question as that. 
People are always asking it. But I am really 
sometimes not quite sure. Neither, I believe, is 
Victoria. But the men over there are chiefly 
what I call green vegetables.” 

“ Green vegetables ! ” repeated Merton mys- 
tified. 

“Well, you see, once Victoria was properly 
engaged, and she thought she was tremendously 


TOWN LIFE 


173 


in love, and got so queer and exaltee that I was 
afraid she would be ill, because Yictoria is not 
an exalte person by nature, you know.” 

“ She is wonderfully charming,” Merton 
chimed in. 

“ But he was rather a tiresome, jealous man, 
and wanted her all to himself ; and she missed 
her usual flirting so dreadfully that she grew 
like sailors or Arctic explorers, I said, who are 
obliged to live on pressed beef, and get no green 
vegetables, till they are quite ill for want of 
them. Yictoria was almost ill for want of men- 
tal green vegetables, so she broke it off.” 

“ And what did the man say ? ” 

“ He was terribly overwrought and upset. But 
then if one of them had got to be ill, you must 
see that it was better for it not to be Yictoria.” 

“ Yes, of course,” said Merton dubiously. 

“ I was so thankful when Kichard was himself 
again. And wasn’t it silly of the man ? He 
actually wouldn’t be friends, but went off shoot- 
ing big game, or digging gold-mines, or some- 
thing equally absurd. He is sure to be eaten or 
ruined, and Yictoria will be so vexed.” 

It was strange to Merton’s ears to hear such 
subjects openly discussed, but it gave him a de- 
lightfully reckless feeling that nothing much 


174 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


mattered except enjoyment. Everything was so 
serious at home; even Ursula was generally 
serious, and the feelings of friendship or sympa- 
thy or compassion which she inspired - were al- 
ways serious ones. And Merton began to think 
that it was nicer not to be serious, and was daz- 
zled by the bright light of this gay world which 
was the Mandevilles’ home. He did not realise 
that it is only the outside expression of life after 
all which can be daintily dressed and made at- 
tractive, that the underlying realities are both 
serious and strong, and it is only a fashion to 
gloss them over — a fashion in one set to prove 
there is no such thing as mortality, just as in an- 
other set it is the fashion to prove that there is 
no such thing as immortality ; but the fashion, 
nevertheless, is powerless to touch the fact. 
Only Merton, being young enough to feel very 
sure of his right estimate of things, suddenly de- 
cided that this aspect of life was the true one ; 
that Violet’s merry blue eyes saw things as they 
really were quite as well as Ursula’s sorrowful 
grey ones, and in a measure his opinion was cor- 
rect, seeing that life is as full of sunshine as it is 
of shadow ; the difference in our outlook being 
the particular little patch of the world in which 
our lot is cast. 


TOWN LIFE 175 

“ I believe I am rather afraid of Miss Mande- 
ville,” said Merton slowly. 

“ Of Victoria ! People generally are at first. 
We have told her she ought to send a man before 
her with a red flag, as if she were a steam-roller ; 
but when you know her better, you will find she 
is always so good-natured that it is waste of feel- 
ing to be afraid.” 

“ She might laugh at one,” continued Merton 
cautiously. 

“ And what if she does ? We always laugh at 
everybody — ourselves included. Oh ! here comes 
father and the little girls. We count Blanche 
still as a little girl, because she won’t be seven- 
teen till next season. But she is going to be the 
beauty of the family. Victoria is the genius, 
you know.” 

“ And what are you ? ” and Merton’s voice un- 
consciously softened. 

“ Only a meagre six of one and half-a-dozen of 
the other,” laughed Violet. “ But neither Vic- 
toria nor I were ever quite as young as Blanche 
is. It is a new fad of mother’s. She wants her 
kept fresh, and she is with a vengeance. You 
can’t think what killing things she says.” 

“She is very lovely,” Merton murmured. 

“Yes; and with a complexion like that and 


176 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


hair so golden, mother said she must not know 
as much as Victoria and I always did. It would 
spoil the whole thing. Of course,” meditatively, 
“ my hair is light enough, but then Victoria and 
I are such friends.” 

“ And what are your youngest sisters going to 
be?” asked Merton, glancing at the two small 
girls with long light-brown hair and still longer 
light-brown legs. 

“ Oh ! we haven’t settled about them yet. 
Now I must go and take my share of the ad- 
miral before mother drops.” 

“ And who must I talk to ? ” 

Violet wrinkled her brow and pursed up her 
laughing lips. 

“You might have had one round with Lilia, 
only she has annexed father. She has been here 
for two hours and twenty minutes, and she has 
never ceased being intelligent for one instant. I 
would have forgiven and forgotten everything if 
only she had said one silly thing.” 

“ I met her here at dinner.” 

“ Father thinks he likes intelligence,” con- 
tinued Violet demurely. “ He will know for cer- 
tain before this day is dead.” 

“You even laugh at Mr. Mandeville!” ex- 
claimed Merton. 


TOWN LIFE 


177 


“ Dear man,” remarked his daughter, “ we often 
have a joke as well as many other good things 
at his expense. Now go and listen to Victoria. 
One of the seats in her little amphitheatre is 
empty, and she can’t bear a gap in the stalls.” 

“I am feeling terribly depressed,” Victoria 
was saying. “ I dare say you have all noticed it. 
I heard such a beautiful sermon this morning. 
It was on unselfishness.” 

“ But you are unselfish, Miss Mandeville,” 
chimed in a young guardsman kindly. 

“ Of course I am — stupid ! If I have a beset- 
ting sin it is unselfishness. But the bishop ad- 
jured us all to do something we didn’t like at 
once for the good of others. And — four different 
people invited me back to luncheon. It is de- 
pressing, isn’t it ? ” 

“My dear Victoria!” exclaimed Lady Clem- 
entina, sinking into a chair beside the tea-table, 
“ who was that sweet, good lady in black who 
has just gone ? I have no idea, only she seemed 
to be somebody’s mother.” 

“ I think she must have been one of the foot- 
man’s friends,” said Victoria thoughtfully. 
“You see,” she explained to the group, “mother 
has quite a little circle of them ! This is how it 
comes about. While she is calling at one house 


178 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


she says it saves time to send Charles and the 
carriage round with a few cards. I never know 
what guides him as to where to leave them, but 
we make a lot of new friends that way.” 

“ My dear child, don’t be so foolish,” laughed 
her mother. “I am sure she was a delightful 
creature, and somebody I have known for years.” 

“ Admiral Kingston does deaden the brain a 
bit,” continued Victoria. “I can only take him 
once every four hours, that is, to preserve my 
reason. Oh, must you go, Captain Trayne? 
Come to tea on the terrace on Tuesday. Father 
is going to have a party.” 

Merton found himself also included in the 
House of Commons tea-party, and watched the 
weather with boyish eagerness for the next 
twenty-four hours. His heart leapt at the Mon- 
day evening’s rosy sunset, and he indulged in 
that delight which is supposed to be the preroga- 
tive of shepherds under such circumstances. 

Mr. Mandeville was so statesmanlike, and Lady 
Clementina so easy, and Victoria so amusing, and 
Violet so — he -could not quite decide what 
Violet preeminently was. Only he did so like 
the tinkle of her laugh and the sheen on her hair, 
and the rustle of her skirts. 

“ I don’t expect father will be able to come to 


TOWN LIFE 


179 


his party after all,” explained Victoria to the 
assembled guests on the terrace. “ He generally 
entertains by proxy. But he is just engaged 
now in ‘ answering back/ — a thing our govern- 
ess always punished severely.” 

“ And mother is mislaid somewhere,” added 
Violet. “ Our new footman is so careless, and 
he has lost her.” 

“ It is so fortunate that you are with us, dear 
aunt,” said Victoria, patting a gentle, puzzled- 
looking lady on the shoulder, “ or we should have 
been chaperonless.” 

“ Charles will have to leave,” and Violet’s voice 
saddened, “ even though he is six foot one.” 

“ I saw a book advertised the other day called 
The Break-up of China f continued Victoria. 
“I think it must have been written in our 
pantry.” 

“ And he is always losing things, too, isn’t he, 
Vic ? ” 

“ In one week he has lost a train, his temper, 
and the lady of the house. It is really too wear- 
ing ! ” 

“ Speaking of China,” began Aunt Annabel, 
who was known to the world as the Countess 
of Maidenhead, “ I once read a most interesting 
article — or else it was the report of a speech, I 


180 THE WOELD AND WINSTOW 


forget which — all about something in China, 
which was so instructive. I read it aloud to 
your uncle one evening. Do you remember, 
girls ? ” 

“ I believe it was a pamphlet on Japan,” sug- 
gested Victoria. 

“Well, now that I come to think of it, that 
does seem more likely. But China and Japan 
are all so mixed up in one’s mind. Don’t you 

think so, Mr. — Mr. ? ” and she looked up 

helplessly at Merton. 

“Yes, the two countries are apt to run into 
each other in our thoughts,” he answered 
quickly, “though really they are such distinct 
peoples.” 

“Are they?” exclaimed Lady Maidenhead, 
slightly surprised. “ They always seem to me to 
have the same kind of faces and quaint-shaped 
eyes. But then one sees so few of them except 
just at the embassy parties. I was only saying 
to Madeline yesterday — do you know my Made- 
line, Mr. — Mr. ? ” 

“ Wainwright,” suggested Merton, smiling. 
“No, I am afraid I have not met her.” 

“ She is such a sweet darling,” continued her 
mother, “ and so clever. Only of course I do not 
like her to know much about anything yet. She 


TOWN LIFE 


181 


is so young and fresh. And so many books are 
not quite suitable nowadays for very young 
girls. Don’t you think is it better to be care- 
ful?” 

“ Most assuredly,” agreed Merton. 

“I never let her read anything that I have 
not first read myself, and that is so awkward, 
because, you see, being so much in town, and 
Lord Maidenhead’s not having anything to do 
between the hunting and shooting, I really have 
no time for finishing books even if I begin 
them.” 

“ Which is always so unsatisfactory,” suggested 
Merton. 

“ Indeed it is. And I am so fond of reading, 
only unfortunately it has such a lulling effect that 
I cannot help falling asleep. And then somehow 
the book goes back to Mudie’s, and one never has 
another chance with it.” And Lady Maidenhead 
sighed. 

“ Is Madeline coming this afternoon ? ” asked 
Violet. 

“No, dear. She has gone to her committee 
meeting. She and I have started such a sweet 
guild, Mr. Wain wright, of which she is the vice- 
president. It is quite simple, y nd the rule of it is 
that one must speak a word in season every day. 


182 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


I think so much good is done by ‘ words in sea- 
son.’ And then every other day you have to do 
an act of love.” 

“I expect Joyce Merlyn belongs to aunt’s 
guild,” said Victoria softly, “ because just before 
twelve o’clock at the Lessingtons’ ball I saw her 
kissing a man in the conservatory. It must have 
been a last effort on one of the every other 
days.” 

“And supposing they do not comply with 
the rules ? ” asked Merton with interest. He 
would not have dared to have made fun of a 
countess in those early days of society life. 

“ There is a penalty.” And Lady Maidenhead 
looked rather sad. “ At first the idea of such a 
thing distressed me greatly. I never can bear to 
remember about punishment of any kind. It 
seems so harsh and cruel. I hardly left off cry- 
ing for a fortnight after I heard Pangbourne had 
been flogged at Eton. And I required a tonic for 
quite a long while.” 

“ But that is such ancient history, aunt dear,” 
interrupted Violet soothingly, “ and Pangbourne 
is such a splendid boy now, and doing so well. 
He is actually in the eleven,” she explained to 
Merton. ^ 

“He never deserved it, I am sure,” sighed 


TOWN LIFE 


183 


Lady Maidenhead. “ There must have been some 
mistake. But schoolmasters cannot understand 
a boy’s character in the way his own mother 
does, and appearances are often so misleading.” 

“ Deuced lot of good it does a fellow getting 
licked,” chimed in a jovial old colonel who had 
joined the party, “ and the oftener the better, 
which is how we were made men of in the good 
old days ! ” 

“ Oh ! how dreadful ! ” gasped her ladyship. 
“But you have not a mother’s heart, Colonel 
Hammond.” 

“ Begad, I’ve not ! ” he laughed cheerily. “ Ah, 
my lady, you have the advantage of me there.” 

“ Visitors are requested not to tease the peer- 
esses,” whispered Victoria, as Merton bent over 
the tea-tray to assist. “ Do keep Colonel Ham- 
mond off, Aunt Annabel, and go and talk to her 
gently about the prevalence of preventable dis- 
eases in public schools, and suggest to her to 
write to The Times because Pangbourne cannot 
be properly fed, seeing that he spends about ten 
shillings a day on luxuries.” 

“ Oh, here is mother ! ” exclaimed Violet, as 
Lady Clementina rustled up to them, beaming 
with delighted laughter. 

“ Such a joke ! ” she at last calmed herself suf- 


184 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


ficiently to explain, “ and quite an adventure ! 
Do listen everybody.” 

“ But have some tea first,” begged her eldest 
daughter, “because people who have been cast 
on desert islands are always hungry and thirsty.” 

“ I can’t think how the cabman could have been 
so stupid,” began Lady Clementina, “ but he must 
have misunderstood me, for instead of bringing 
me here he drove me to an enormous hospital 
somewhere.” 

“ But the carriage went for you,” interrupted 
Yiolet. 

“ Yes, dear, I knew it was coming, only I really 
couldn’t wait for it, because dear Mrs. Craven 
began proving to us that we were the lost ten 
tribes, which is absurd on the face of it, consider- 
ing our noses. I never felt thankful for a tiny, 
turn-up nose before.” 

“ I often have — at Brighton,” interpolated Vic- 
toria. 

“So I flew off in a hansom — anybody would 
from the fulfillment of prophecy — and was landed 
at this hospital. And just on the doorstep was 
that dear Dr. War burton.” 

“ The one that came in as an extra when Pat 
was so ill ? ” asked Yiolet. 

“Yes; I had quite forgotten how devoted I 


TOWN LIFE 


185 


was to him. Well, he insisted on taking me round 
the wards. Wasn’t it fun ? ” 

“I always think there are many indications 
that we are the lost ten tribes,” Lady Maiden- 
head gently murmured, but no one took the slight- 
est notice of her. 

“ And you can’t think what lovely places hos- 
pitals are,” continued Lady Clementina. “ I have 
quite decided to go into one if ever I am ill. It 
must be so charming always to have a next- 
door, or I ought to say next-bed neighbour to 
talk to.” 

“ Provided you want to talk,” remarked Vic- 
toria. 

“ My dear child, of course if you are a woman 
you always want to talk. And that is what must 
make being in a hospital such fun.” 

Merton suddenly remembered Ursula’s telling 
him about a poor woman whom she had been to 
visit in a hospital, and her face came before him 
with its tear-veiled eyes as she said, “ Oh, Mer- 
ton ! I can never forget it. To see so many lives 
bound in the prison-house of pain, and yet be un- 
able to make up to them for all that they are 
missing of the good things of the world.” And 
when he asked her what she had done there she 
had replied, “ The saddest part was that I could 


186 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


do nothing. I just put my arms round her, and 
laid my cheek against hers, and longed that she 
might be comforted.” 

“ And what did you do there, mother ? ” Yiolet 
was asking. 

“I saw everything; and the children’s ward 
was simply delightful. Just like a big cage full 
of twittering birds ; and they all chirped, ‘ Come 
to me, lidy,’ and looked so sweet and clean — much 
nicer than they would when they were well. I 
never could bear poor people’s children till I saw 
them to-day.” 

“ But I expect they are happier well, mother,” 
said Yiolet. 

“ Oh ! they were happy enough to-day — and 
with lots of lovely toys. I emptied my purse to 
give them a treat — sponge cake and strawberries 
for tea, it was going to be.” 

So Merton perceived that in this gay world 
there were seen no sad sights. It was a very 
charming world to live in. 

“ And I had no money to pay my cab here. 
But a dear policeman lent me some. I must ask 
your father to see that he is instantly promoted. 
And, girls, do remember that, if ever I am ill, I 
must have Dr. Warburton. It would be such a 
treat ! I should quite enjoy a nice, little, clean, 


TOWN LIFE 187 

becoming complaint, with that dear man to look 
after me.” 

“ I have no patience with doctors and doctor- 
ing,” observed Colonel Hammond, who had never 
been ill for a day in his life. “ Specialists for 
this, that, and the other, as if we were not made 
all of a piece, and ought to be treated whole- 
sale.” 

“ I once consulted a specialist,” Victoria told 
them, “ and I was so ashamed of myself.” 

“ Why, my dear ? ” asked her aunt. 

“ For disappointing him so. I hadn’t a single 
pain he expected, and it did seem so horribly 
rude and careless of me. At last he asked in an 
imploring kind of way if I had not one in my 
side, and I flew to say yes. But I did not tell 
him it was owing to a new frock which pinched 
frightfully. I blessed my dressmaker for the 
first and only time in my life.” 

“ I forgot to tell you,” said Lady Clementina, 
helping herself to strawberries, “ that the police- 
man actually told me that my husband is speak- 
ing. Wasn’t it dear and innocent of him? But 
I know it is one of those dreadfully dull speeches 
that nobody can listen to — and I am so thirsty ! ” 

“What an awful thing !” exclaimed Victoria. 
“We came to hear father speak, and we have 


18S THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


forgotten all about it. We have special tickets 
for the Speaker’s Gallery. Come,” and she 
jumped up from the table. “ We must fly so as 
to be in at the death ; and you, Mr. Wainwright, 
must tell us what it was all about afterwards. I 
wouldn’t hurt father’s feelings for the world.” 

So the party broke up, and Yiolet, from be- 
hind the bars of that stuffy little cage upstairs, 
thought regretfully of the cool, shadowed ter- 
race, and how much nicer it would have been to 
be strolling up and down it with Merton Wain- 
wright than listening to what she did not in the 
least understand. But then, as Victoria always 
said, to make things really pleasant in family life 
everybody must be interested in what interests 
each, from a rejuvenated frock to a new cook, 
and from an unsuitable love-affair to a political 
speech. 

The weeks flew by on fleeter wings than are 
ever unfolded in the country, and Merton fondly 
hoped he was becoming a regular man about 
town. He revolved in the Mandeville orbit, un- 
til July had gone and taken them with it out of 
his reach, and then he began to grow a little to- 
wards being the man he had for so long sup- 
posed himself to be. The dazzle of such com- 
panionship faded from his eyes, but left them 


TOWN LIFE 


189 


clearer to see something of the world about him. 
For wholesome laughter sheds a healthy light on 
many things, and so Merton learned to look at 
the humorous side of life, and, what was far bet- 
ter for him, at the humorous side of himself. 
And because the laughter of these merry-minded 
girls was never really cynical or cruel, he ex- 
panded in its sunshine, and once or twice even 
laughed with them at his own theories and con- 
ceits. His youthful boasting of his love of and 
success in work had been slain by a twinkle in 
Victoria’s eyes as he one day was bragging to 
her about it. 

“ I felt so old when I left Oxford,” he had told 
her. 

“ Never mind,” she answered soberly, “I re- 
member I did when my hair was turned up. 
But you will get over it, and feel young again in 
ten years’ time.” 

And Merton was neither a slow nor a stupid 
young man ; so he learned his lesson quickly, 
and even felt a little younger before ten weeks 
had passed. 


CHAPTER YII 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 

“ I don’t care ; I shan’t sing at all unless I 
have that solo ! ” said Gladys Wain wright shrilly. 

“ Don’t be a goose ! ” reproved her elder sister 
in a matronly voice ; for it was now autumn and 
Gertrude was glorying in the proud position of 
being Mrs. Albert Cox, and so could afford to 
look down from a great height of superiority on 
to the follies and foibles of unmarried girls. 

“ It is just Beatrice Holt’s spite,” continued 
the aggrieved Gladys, “ when she knows that 
nobody can reach the top A but me.” 

“And you don’t always, you know,” replied 
her sister candidly. 

“ I do. At least I get nearer to it than any 
one else can. That’s just like you, Gertrude, 
taking everybody’s part against me. But I tell 
you I won’t appear at all unless I sing that.” 

“Oh, yes! you will. You know you will. 
Why, you have got a new dress for the occasion. 

It is very becoming, mamma says.” 

190 


AN AMATEUE CONCEET 


191 


Gladys looked mollified. “Yellow’s my col- 
our, there is no doubt, and papa let me have this 
piece cost price.” 

“He is too generous with things for the 
house,” said Gertrude ; “ Albert was only saying 
so yesterday.” 

“ Then Albert had better hold his tongue,” re- 
marked Albert’s sister-in-law emphatically. “ It 
is no business of his as long as we are at the 
head of the concern.” 

“ Indeed I don’t know how papa would get on 
without Albert,” continued his wife in a satisfied 
voice. “ I am always so thankful he has him to 
lean upon.” 

“ Pack of nonsense ! ” exclaimed Gladys irrita- 
bly ; “ papa’s not the one to want any one to lean 
on, I can tell you. And Albert will take a pre- 
cious lot too much upon himself if he thinks he 
is going to run the whole show. You’re such a 
sawney over Albert, you never can see which 
way the wind blows.” 

“ You should try to control your temper a lit- 
tle more, Gladys ; you really should. It will go 
dreadfully against your settling, for there is 
nothing a man hates so much as a nasty temper. 
I am always so thankful for my amiable one.” 

“Well, you were long enough about finding a 


192 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


husband for all your sweetness,’’ sneered her 
sister. 

“You make a grand mistake, my dear. Of 
course it took me a long while to finally make 
up my mind that Albert would suit me, and to 
put aside even better chances for him,” said 
Gertrude, completely forgetting her confidences 
to Ursula of not so very long ago ! Indeed, she 
had accustomed herself to believe that it was 
with the greatest difficulty that Mr. Cox had 
succeeded in winning her, and that she had 
finally singled him out from a crowd of aspiring 
suitors. Things often assume a different hue 
when seen through the light of subsequent 
events. 

“ Oh, my ! ” exclaimed Gladys. “ Didn’t look 
much like it at the time ! ” 

“ I am extremely happy,” continued Mrs. Al- 
bert placidly ; “ and everything seems to have 
turned out for the best. Indeed, even cook’s 
giving notice the other day has provided me 
with the chance of engaging the kitchen-maid 
from Rennel Hill, who has got into Mrs. L}^all’s 
genteel ways. And she must know about nice 
gravies, seeing that Mrs. Lyall’s father was a Sir 
Somebody, and so would be extra particular by 
birth. And Albert thinks a lot of his gravies. 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


193 


That is cook’s one fault — they are a little sloppy. 
But I just look round, and pop in a drop of 
Harvey’s or Worcester if they don’t seem tasty.” 

“ I can’t bear messing in a kitchen,” said 
Gladys, “and when I am married I shall just 
stick to the front rooms.” 

“ When you are married you will know better 
than talk such nonsense. Two servants can’t do 
everything, and it takes a good deal to afford 
more.” 

“ The wives of professional men live in a very 
different way,” observed Gladys loftily. 

“ I am not so sure of that. But for myself I 
prefer our way,” and Gertrude stroked herself 
mentally and purred on. “ I think two servants 
is a perfect number — just enough to give you 
something to do, and yet keeping all the heavy 
work in hand themselves. And I have been 
wonderfully fortunate in servants since my mar- 
riage.” 

“Well, I am sick of hearing of your good for- 
tune, Gertrude. I wish you’d take a little inter- 
est in other people’s concerns.” 

“ So I do. And of course every one cannot 
expect to be so well-off all round as I am. There 
is only one Albert in the world.” Which for 
the sake of the world was perhaps fortunate. 


194 THE WOKLD AKD WINSTOW 


“ What do you think of Bernard Holt ? ” asked 
Gladys suddenly, with rather red cheeks. 

“ The brother from London, you mean ? ” 

“Yes, the professional man. The rest of the 
family are all in trade, you know, but Bernard 
was always above that, his sisters told me.” 

“ As if trade wasn’t as good as profession, any 
day,” exclaimed Gertrude with more warmth 
than usual. “ But I expect the fact was Bernard 
hadn’t the capital to set up on his own account, 
which they would hardly like to own to.” 

“ Bernard lives in a most genteel part of Lon- 
don,” continued Gladys with her nose in the air, 
“and has a first-rate connection.” 

“ He is a dentist, isn’t he ? ” 

“ Yes, and the senior partner has a lot to do 
with the teeth of the aristocracy, which of course 
Bernard will succeed to.” 

“ He always seems to me to be rather a slow 
young man.” 

“ There is nothing at all loud about Bernard.” 

“ For myself,” continued Gertrude, “ I like 
some one with a bit more go — Albert’s liveliness 
is so cheerful in everyday life ; but then, as I 
said before, every one can’t be like him.” 

“ I fancy,” began Gladys — “ of course it may 
be only a fancy, but I have a feeling that Ber- 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 195 

nard’s a bit gone on me. What do yon think, 
Gerty ? ” 

“ I didn’t notice anything myself ; ” but then 
seeing her sister’s face fall, she added kindly, 
“ but Bernard’s one of the deep ones, I should 
say. He is still enough to run deep, in all con- 
science, for I never met such a mummy of a man 
before.” And the young matron laughed her 
comfortable, chuckling laugh, which Gladys 
found particularly annoying. 

“ The frock-coat he wore on Sunday has quite 
the London cut,” she boasted proudly. “So 
different from Albert’s slop one, I thought to 
myself.” 

Gertrude’s wifely feathers ruffled quickly. 

“ I don’t care for such pronounced Sunday 
clothes in a man, and Albert knows it is much 
grander to look as if you hadn’t been to church, 
so he chose the check suit on purpose. Why, I 
have never even seen Merton’s frock-coat. He 
always wears blue serge on Sundays here, and 
he used to go to the most fashionable tailor in 
Oxford, so he must know best.” 

“ Mamma thought Bernard looked something 
beautiful,” persisted Gladys. 

' “ Oh, but then mamma is very old-fashioned, 
you know, dear, and likes people to look re- 


196 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


ligious,” and Gertrude smiled indulgently. “I 
perfer a bit of style myself, and Albert carries a 
check to perfection.” 

“ It is always well to be prepared,” mused 
Gladys vaguely, “ and Bernard is coming down 
for the concert.” 

“ So is Merton, I hear. It will be quite an ex- 
citement in Winstow. It is so fortunate this 
house of ours lies so close to the concert hall, 
for what with rehearsals and such like the folks 
will be glad to drop in for a mouthful ; and I 
never tasted such drop-cakes anywhere as on my 
own table. I am turning it over in my mind 
whether I won’t give a supper party on the even- 
ing itself.” 

“You might ask the Holts and one or two 
others,”- suggested her sister eagerly. 

“A couple of roast fowls are very tasty for 
supper. And Farmer Preece always keeps his 
best birds for me. Indeed I seem quite a 
favourite with him and the butcher, so I get all 
the titbits. I often notice how much tenderer 
our meat is than what you get at home.” 

“ Perhaps you are a favourite with the cows 
and sheep, too,” remarked Gladys with fine 
scorn, but her sister’s self-satisfaction was im- 
pervious to such thrusts. 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


197 


The preparations for the concert continued 
with the usual amount of jealousy and heart- 
burnings which an amateur entertainment oc- 
casions. The performers all stated that they 
were perfectly willing to do anything except the 
one thing which had been assigned to them, and 
so it was with no little difficulty that matters 
were finally arranged without an open quarrel. 
As Ursula was not musical, and could do noth- 
ing in the way of making a conventional noise, 
she was out of all this intricate wear and tear. 
Indeed to her the concert afforded only thoughts 
of pure pleasure. She had so little authorised 
enjoyment in her life that she retained capabili- 
ties of deriving more delight from an occasional 
treat than happier girls could possibly experience. 
And was not Merton coming down from Friday 
to Monday, and bringing a large share of her 
enjoyment with him ? For it was now a long 
time since she had seen her old friend. He had 
been obliged to stay in London all during the 
long summer holidays, which come close on the 
season’s heels, and because he had found them 
rather dull after the departure of the Mande- 
villes he had written longer letters to Ursula, 
and drawn nearer to her in the telling of all the 
interests and events with which life in London is 


198 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


so crowded. Most of ns have one such letter to 
write every week, and it makes a little garden 
in our souls wherein we plant all the varied 
thoughts and moods and feelings which are too 
small and insignificant, and sometimes too 
sacred, to show to the world outside. It is a 
close comradeship, this one of confidential letter- 
writing, closer for not being hampered by tricks 
of manner and touches of shyness and reserve ; 
and it is a good possession to hold, seeing that 
understanding sympathy is one of the best gifts 
this world, or even the next, will be able to give 
us, and our pens can sometimes win it more 
readily than our tongues. So Ursula looked for- 
ward to the meeting with a new tenderness, and 
Merton looked forward to it, too. For half the 
pleasure of pleasure is the person to whom we 
want to tell all about it, and Merton had much 
to tell which no one but Ursula would really 
understand. 

“ May we both come up to see you ? ” she 
asked Mrs. Lyall, to whom she had been telling 
the wonderful story of his success. “ He is quite 
different from all his people, you know.” 

The old lady smiled at the girl’s eagerness. 
She had built up a romance in her thoughts 
about Ursula and this young man ; and she saw, 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


199 


with eyes sharpened by long experience, how the 
old friendliness was taking a different shape in 
Ursula’s heart, though the girl herself was still 
unconscious of it. 

“ Come to tea on Saturday, my dear. I shall 
always have a warm welcome waiting for any 
friend of yours. For during these past few 
months that we have been thrown so much to- 
gether you have crept very close to my heart, 
my child. There is always an empty space in a 
daughterless household, for the girls have dear, 
bright ways of their own which nobody else can 
replace. Once long ago a little daughter peeped 
into my home, and though she went away again 
before any one but her mother had learned to 
love her, she left an empty place which has 
never been filled up.” And Mrs. Lyall’s sweet 
face saddened. 

“ I am so sorry,” said Ursula. 

“ But when you came,” continued the old 
lady, “you brought a fragment of that dear 
daughterhood which I have missed all my life ; 
and it has been refreshing to me to hear your 
girlish voice and laughter, and to see you in and 
out of my rooms. And you have been so good 
to the children. I am very grateful to you, 
Ursula.” 


200 THE WORLD AND WIHSTOW 


“ Oh ! but, Mrs. Lyall, the gratitude is all on 
my side. I can’t say what I feel, without being 
silly and crying, but think what it has been to 
me to go out as a governess and to enter a new 
home. For Rennel Hill will always seem like a 
home to me because so many of my deeper 
thoughts and feelings have been born here.” 

“ I wish, little girl, that I could see you safely 
guided into a haven of rest and joy. I pray 
that I may before the time comes to wish you 
good-bye. I often think, Ursula, how infinitely 
great God’s love to us must be, seeing that He 
can let us suffer so.” 

“ I don’t understand,” interrupted the girl ; 
“ it seems as if it must be just the other way.” 

“ Listen, dear. There is a stage of love which 
is indulgent, perhaps cheaply so. Just to give 
pleasure is enough to satisfy it. But there is a 
stage as far above that as it is beyond — when 
love can bear to hurt because of its greatness, 
and, though sharing the sorrow, cannot withhold 
the suffering because of the deeper, truer mean- 
ing of it all.” 

“ I cannot grasp that — yet,” said Ursula, 

“ Once, when I was very ill, a friend came up 
to see me, and she gave me a bunch of grapes 
and said how sorry she was I was worse, and she 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


201 


hoped I should be better soon ; and then she hur- 
ried away with a smile, to be in time for a party 
to which she was engaged. And directly after- 
wards a great doctor came, and he threw the 
grapes away with a frown, and took me into his 
skillful hands, and oh ! how he hurt me, Ursula. 
And he stayed with me all through a black night 
of anguish and fought the foe which had hold of 
me step by step, and I can see the deep lines with 
which anxiety furrowed his face even now, and 
hear the strained tension of his voice as he spoke 
to the nurses. But he won the battle for me, 
Ursula, and saved me, even though my life was 
only dear to him as a case. Think how infinitely 
more worth saving are our true lives in the sight 
of God, to whom they were dear enough to be 
bought by such a ransom.” 

Ursula was silent, for thoughts such as these 
were too hard for her to realise. She had a 
feeling deep down in her childish heart that if 
God really cared He would be kinder to her, and 
give her the bright-coloured gifts which we want 
so badly in the days of our youth ; and, unex- 
pressed even in the thought, the feeling grew 
that, as she was crowded out of so much which 
other girls enjoyed, so she was also perhaps 
crowded out of the divine tenderness and care. 


202 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


Ursula was very young in soul and ignorant of 
life in those days. 

“ Why is you goin’ afore dinner ? ” asked 
Dubby ; for Ursula had begged for leave to help 
in the decoration of the concert room that 
afternoon. 

“ Because I want to take the flowers your 
grandmother has given me and arrange them 
round the platform.” 

“ Is you ascited ? ” the child wanted to 
know. 

“ Yes,” laughed Ursula, thinking of the five 
o’clock train which was to bring Merton from 
London. 

“ I am learning my hymn awful quick,” Dick 
announced. 

“ I don’t like Dick’s hymns,” announced the 
little girl, who was in a very conversational 
mood. “ I like my own favourite best.” 

“ And what is that, dear ? ” 

“ When Mother's a Sailor. The one you 
teached me yesterday.” 

Ursula was puzzled for a moment, until she 
remembered that it was the old children’s hymn 
beginning “ When mothers of Salem,” which she 
had been trying to drive into Dubby’s little round 
head. 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


203 


“Mother isn’t one yet,” the child explained 
thoughtfully, “ but daddy’s a soldier,” she added 
more cheerfully. 

“Yes, I know,” replied Ursula with a smile; 
“ but now, Dubby, do go on with your reading. 
It is getting late.” 

“ L-e-t — let ; u-s — us ; g-o — go ; o-u-t I 

don’t know.” 

“Now, what does o-u-t spell?” asked Ursula 
coaxingly. 

“ I don’t know,” replied Dubby cheerfully. 

“ Oh, yes, you do. I told you yesterday.” 

“ I don’t know,” still more cheerfully. 

“ If I tell you again, will you remember ? ” 

Dubby’s face brightened up. “ I don’t know,” 
she repeated gaily. 

“ Look here, Dubby,” suggested Ursula, trying 
to hurry on the appointed task, “ let us pretend 
that you are a very big, clever girl at a boarding 
school.” 

“Oh, no, let’s p’etend I’m a little tiny one, 
what doesn’t learn no lessons — like a weeny baby 
in a cradle.” 

“ Miss Grey,” said Dick, looking up from his 
hymn-book, “ I suppose Herod angels are rather 
wicked ones, same as King Herod was ? ” 

“ Oh, Dick ! look at the word. It is 4 herald,’ 


204 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


not ‘ Herod.’ And angels are always good, and 
come with joyful messages.” 

“ How quick do they come ? ” Dubby wished 
to know. 

“ Yery quickly,” replied Ursula vaguely. 

“ I can run as quick as angels,” boasted Dick. 

“ Oh, Dick ! How rude ! ” reproved his little 
sister severely. 

“ What messages do angels bring us ? ” asked 
the boy. 

“ The ones you are learning about brought us 
the message of God’s love.” 

“ God loves us all very much,” continued Dick. 
“ Mummy told me so all that long time away in 
India.” 

Dubby’s merry face suddenly sobered, and she 
looked up at Ursula wistfully. 

“ Does God love me enough to say ‘ darling ’ ? ” 
she asked in her baby voice. 

A lump rose in Ursula’s throat, and she lifted 
the child on to her knee. 

“ I think He would always call you ‘ darling,’ ” 
she said softly. And Dubby’s little face flushed 
all over with a new delight. 

“ I say, Ursula,” whispered Gladys Wain* 
wright, as they were arranging the flowers to- 
gether, “ give me a chance with Bernard Holt if 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


205 


you can keep any of the others back — walking to 
and from Gertrude’s and that kind of thing. 
You understand?” And she gave a knowing 
look. 

“ Of course I understand how much nicer it is 
to have people to ourselves. I wonder why it 
is ? ” mused Ursula. 

“ What a silly you are. How can you carry 
on with a third person bothering round ? ” 

“ But with everybody it is nicer,” persisted 
Ursula, “ when there is no idea of what you call 
i carrying on.’ ” 

“ Now, girls, hurry up ! ” cried Mrs. Albert 
Cox as she bustled by, “ and remember that sup- 
per will be ready directly the concert is over. 
Albert will be hungry, I know, by then.” 

When Ursula first saw Merton that night she 
thought how much older and more manly he 
looked. His moustache had grown dark and 
heavy, and there was a new stylish stamp about 
him that she had never noticed before. He wore 
an orthodox London florist’s buttonhole, and for 
long afterwards the scent of tuberoses brought 
her the sense of Merton’s nearness. 

“ Ho you still like London ? ” she whispered 
between the songs. 

“ More than ever ! I have heaps to tell you. 


206 THE WORLD AND WIN STOW 


The Mandevilles are awfully nice to me, and I go 
out a great deal. But, Ursula, I do so often wish 
you were there, too.” 

“ Do you really, Merton ? ” 

“Yes, because, you see, I have to always be on 
my best behaviour up there, and it would be so 
jolly if I had you to talk to quite naturally and 
all that. The girls there aren’t like you.” 

“ Are you sure they are not much nicer ? ” 
she asked with a smile on her lips, but a little 
shivery feeling at her heart. 

“ Oh, they are nice in such a different way. 
They talk and laugh all the time — much more 
than I ever expected as regards laughing and 
making jokes— but I couldn’t confide in them, you 
know, as I do in you. They’d make fun of me. 
For they don’t really think much of people who 
aren’t one of themselves, even though they are 
so jolly to you and make you feel you are. But, 
when you get home again, somehow by yourself 
you know it was only ‘ pretending,’ as the chil- 
dren say.” 

“ But you will make for yourself a right some 
day, Merton, and be one of themselves. 4 With 
a great sum you will obtain that freedom,’ ” she 
quoted smiling. 

“ But they are free-born,” he added quickly. 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


207 


“ I know the difference now, Ursula, better than 
I did ; but what you say is true. I think I may 
some day win that freedom.” 

“ I am sure you will.” 

“ What a help and comforter you always are ! ” 
and his dark eyes glowed with affection. “ But 
it’s a bit of strain, you know.” 

“ I think a strain is rather good for you, Mer- 
ton. Do you know there is something bigger 
and finer about you now because you have been 
living up to a strain ? I can see it. You are 
more of a man already.” 

“ I feel ever so much older — and not quite so 
sure of myself, between ourselves,” he added 
in a lower voice. “It is splendid training 
being under Mr. Mandeville ! ” But it was 
being under the Mandeville girls that was 
the best training that Merton was having just 
then. 

“I am glad you are being trained, Merton, 
because I am, too. It is equally good training 
being under Mrs. Lyall.” 

“ But you don’t seem older, Ursula.” And he 
looked at her with a quizzical smile. “ You seem 
younger, so your training must be the other way 
about.” 

“ I think I feel younger, too.” And the girl’s 


208 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


eyes shone with the dawning joy of what life 
might have in store for her after all. 

“ You have learned some new little tricks, I 
notice,” he continued confidentially. 

“ So have you,” she retorted. 

“ Don’t interrupt. I like the new wa} r you do 
your hair and the bunch of flowers in your belt. 
You never used to wear flowers before.” 

“ Mrs. Lyall taught me to. She says that the 
thought of a girl and flowers ought to be all 
mixed up. And that you must never be too 
busy, however hard-worked, to think about mak- 
ing yourself attractive, because that is one of 
woman’s duties in the world — to make it more 
beautiful.” 

“She is right. Oh, I say, must I be quiet 
while this johnny is reminding us of the prema- 
ture decease of the minstrel boy ? ” 

“ Yes,” laughed Ursula. “It is young Holt. 
He has rather a good voice.” 

“ How well Gladys is looking to-night,” con- 
tinued Merton, catching that light in his sister’s 
face which is a beautifier of the most common- 
place countenance, when first it is softened by 
the refining touch of love for another. “ She 
has improved lately, as much as Gertrude has 
gone off.” 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


209 


“ I think it is because she is falling in love,’’ 
whispered Ursula. 

“ I think it is because she is wearing a decent 
frock. Clothes make an awful difference in 
people’s looks. There is a Miss Langbridge in 
town, who, Victoria Mandeville says, is exactly 
like fried whitebait in the face, and yet she 
passes as almost pretty till you look into her, 
and see that she is really an old fright. It is 
dress that does it,” he concluded grandiloquently. 

Ursula looked up impressed. Merton was cer- 
tainly much wiser and could teach her many 
things. And he was quick to read the admira- 
tion in her eyes and liked it. For of late nobody 
had admired Merton ; he had been busy admir- 
ing other people — a much more profitable if not 
quite so pleasant pastime. 

“What a handsome man young Wain wright 
has become,” said Georgina Carpenter to her 
brother as most people stood up and looked 
around during the interval. “ But Ursula should 
know better than flirt with him like that.” 

David frowned. “ He always was good- 
looking,” he answered shortly. 

“ It would be a rare catch for Ursula,” mused 
Georgina. 

Her brother somewhat roughly pushed past 


210 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


the next few chairs and went up to the door. 
And from there he watched Ursula and saw the 
new brightness that shone in her eyes and the 
happy smile that played round her usually 
pathetic mouth. The faint sound of her girlish 
laughter, as Merton spoke to her, fell on his 
sharpened ear, and a big sigh was stifled in his 
throat. 

“ He has everything,” he thought to himself, 
“beauty and brains, and what is far better, 
youth and hope. And the boy deserves it, 
nearly all. He could not quite, because we none 
of us can deserve the really big gifts. Oh, Mer- 
ton ! ” and the sigh escaped after all, “ I wish I 
could change places with you ! ” And then he 
saw the young man rise and come elbowing his 
way down the room to where he stood. 

“ Good-evening, sir,” and he spoke in the old 
boyish way in spite of his grand young man 
appearance. David shook his hand heartily. 

“ What a swell you are, old man.” 

Merton laughed — that pleasant, ringing laugh 
of his. “I am awfully glad to see you again. 
It is like old times, sir.” 

David shook his head. “The old times are 
gone by, Wain wright. See that the new ones 
are as good.” 


AN AMATEUK CONCEET 


211 


“ A jolly lot better, I should say. I am get- 
ting on first-rate up there. But,” he added im- 
pulsively, “ I feel it is all owing to you. I never 
could have done all this if you hadn’t given me 
the start.” 

“ Nonsense,” and David smiled grimly. 

“ And I know you wish me good luck from 
your heart,” added Merton. 

David spoke very slowly. “Yes, I do, my 
boy,” and nobody ever knew how much it cost 
him to make that answer. For David was not 
a man to speak insincerely, and he meant 
even to the bitter depths all that such a wish 
implied. 

Mrs. Albert Cox was terribly hot and flustered 
by the arrangement of her supper party. She 
was so anxious to show forth at it all her house- 
hold treasures, independently of their suitability. 
Handsome electro covers brooded over the two 
main dishes, which an artificial butler, engaged 
from the Fairfax Arms, was somewhat slow to 
remove — Gertrude having previously instructed 
him not to hurry, so that their magnificence 
might first be fully appreciated. A couple of 
roast fowls serenely sat on each of the aforesaid 
dishes. 

“ What a rum mistake ! ” said Merton in a low 


212 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


voice to Ursula. “ I never saw such a covey of 
roast fowls in my life before.” 

“Hullo, my dear!” exclaimed Mr. Wain- 
wright in strident tones; “got the whole 
poultry-yard cooked, I see.” 

Gertrude beamed with pride. 

“ I always think, when there are two different 
things,” she explained, that it is so disappointing 
for those who have to take plain joint. So I 
said we would all fare alike to-night, and nobody 
should regret their choice. You will find the 
sausages in that revolving bacon dish, papa. I 
felt I must have it on the table, though bacon 
itself is a little dull when compared with sau- 
sages. Do you mind lifting the cover, Mr. Holt ? ” 

“ Hot at all,” he answered solemnly. 

“ It is a handsome dish, is it not ? ” Gertrude 
always said “ Is it not ? ” at a party. “ It was a 
wedding present from Albert’s great-aunt. Solid 
silver, you know.” 

“ Indeed,” murmured Bernard. 

“ I do like to see a bit of silver on a table my- 
self,” she continued, “and we have been very 
fortunate in having so much given to us. Of 
course there was a little electro among it from 
those who were not quite so well off, but it 
chiefly is solid.” 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


213 


“ Ursula,” whispered Merton, “do look. A 
teapot is being handed round. What can be in 
it?” 

“Oh ! my dear,” chimed in Mrs. Wainwright, 
who sat next to him and overheard, “ that was 
my suggestion. Gerty was so anxious to show 
off the teapot, and we could neither think how 
it could be managed, seeing that Albert was set 
on spirits and water as being the correct thing 
for supper, when suddenly it struck me how well 
it would do for the gravy, for Gerty’s sauce-boats 
are only china to match the dinner service, and 
the one is a bit cracked. So this idea of mine 
came in quite providentially, as it were, for only 
yesterday cook found the cracked one did run 
out, and there was no time to get another.” 

“Well, it is original, mother, if nothing else.” 

“I dare say it doesn’t any of it seem very 
grand to you, my dear, accustomed as you are to 
such fine ways in London, and even silver vege- 
table dishes no doubt. But we must all try and 
admire each other’s things a bit, mustn’t we, 
Ursula ? Just to make everything pleasant and 
cheerful.” 

“ And there are things to admire almost every- 
where,” assented the girl — “ that is, if, as Mrs. 
Lyall says, we look deep enough.” 


214 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ To be sure, love. What a beautiful way of 
putting things Mrs. Lyall seems to have. She is 
wonderfully religious for a high-born lady, I 
have always heard. Merton, my dear, I wish 
you would not smile quite in that way when 
Gerty speaks ; she might take it as a little bit 
scornful.” 

“ I don’t think she would, mother,” and herein 
the young man was right. Gertrude Cox was 
incapable of seeing that any one could laugh at 
her ; and, besides, in her opinion “ solid silver ” 
was too sacred a subject for a jest. 

“I could not think how it was,” continued 
Mrs. Wain wright, “ but ever since we sat down I 
have been reminded somehow of a funeral, and I 
have only just found out that it is the smell of 
your buttonhole, my dear. Why ever did you 
choose such flowers, Merton ? They quite bring 
back to me Cousin Sophia’s death. She had a 
very stjdish funeral, being the wife of an officer 
in the army.” 

Merton took out his buttonhole and tossed it 
into the fire behind them. 

“ Oh, my dear ! ” exclaimed his mother, “ you 
should not act so rashly. It seems such a waste 
to burn a beautiful nosegay like that.” 

“ But he didn’t want you to be reminded of 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 215 

sad things, Mrs. Wainwright,” Ursula ex- 
plained. 

“ Between ourselves, love ” — and the good 
lady’s voice sank into a confidential whisper — 
“ Cousin Sophia was no loss to me. Indeed after 
her marriage she quite gave me and papa the 
pass-by, and many’s the time I have felt a bit 
hurt in consequence. Not that it does to worry 
over such things, but it seems to me a little late 
in the day when the first invitation you get from 
a person is to their funeral.” 

“ Then she was a horrid old cat,” said Merton, 
who hated to feel that his mother had been 
pained. 

“ Oh, my dear ! you must not speak like that, 
and she an angel in glory ! For Cousin Sophia, 
I am glad to say, did not give up religion along 
with her humble relations, which she might have 
done, seeing the temptations there are in high 
society.” 

“ But I am not going to forgive any one who 
has been unkind to you, mother. No more will 
Ursula ! ” 

And Merton felt a new thrill of something a 
little deeper than pleasure in the thought that 
Ursula would always be good to his mother. 
Old associations are very strong and deep, and 


216 THE WORLD AND W1NSTOW 


we slip back into the old thoughts and ways so 
easily, however high we may have climbed 
above them. Merton, even though he had only 
been in Winstow a few hours, was beginning to 
feel as if he had never been away from it, and 
the new way of looking at life, which he was 
picking up so readily in London, fell from him 
as a cloak at the familiar sound of his mother’s 
voice. That the Mandevilles belonged to a dif- 
ferent world from that in which Mrs. Wain- 
wright lived he perfectly well knew, but just at 
this moment he felt a special tenderness for her, 
strong with the associations of boyish days, and 
he was glad that Ursula understood, and that he 
would never need to hide the homely ways of 
his mother from her as he would from the new 
London friends, whose merry scorn, he felt, 
would scorch some things which to him were 
sacred in their simplicity. 

“You are dear children!” exclaimed Mrs. 
Wain wright. “And it was just like you, Mer- 
ton, to burn the flowers sooner than upset me. 
Only, my love, in future don’t do anything which 
looks extravagant before papa. He might not 
understand your motives, and get put out a bit, 
and begin all that long talk about young men’s 
wasting their money, which generally ends in un- 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


217 


pleasantness all round. And to us old-fashioned 
folk it does seem a bit lavish to buy buttonholes 
at a real flower-shop instead of picking them in 
the garden. Only, of course, we can’t enter into 
all the grand London ways that I know you 
have to, my dear.” 

“ I don’t think I am extravagant, mother ; but 
so many things are necessities which mount up.” 

“ Of course, love. That is what I always say 
to papa. If we had wanted our boy to live on 
fifteen shillings a week we went the wrong way 
about bringing him up to it when we kept him 
so long at his schooling, to say nothing of going 
to Oxford afterwards. But that is where men 
are a bit unreasonable, as it were. They want 
the lads to look like gentlemen and yet to cost 
no more than office boys, which is what I have 
never found them succeed in yet.” 

“ Of course it is unreasonable,” began Merton, 
but Mrs. Wain wright interrupted him. 

“ But never mind about that, my dear. It is 
natural that papa should be a bit contrary at 
times, what with being a man and the head of 
the house. So I tell you what I have always 
told your sisters — if you have anything to say, 
come to me, and I will watch for a suitable op- 
portunity to mention the matter to papa, which 


218 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


is what the young folk are a bit thoughtless 
about doing. Why, only the other day Gladys 
must needs ask for a new jacket just before din- 
ner, and, of course, being hungry and tired, papa 
refused, and there was ever such a set-to, which 
would all have been avoided if only she had 
asked me first.” 

“‘Oh, you put everything all right, mother,” 
and Merton's smile was a very pleasant one. 
For he saw beneath the homely surface into 
the dear heart of motherhood, and though he 
knew with his mind that she was not what the 
world calls a lady, he felt in his soul that she 
who was his mother was indeed set apart in his 
eyes from any such comparisons, and in the 
greatness of that relationship rose above the 
smaller criticisms of those outside it. And Ur- 
sula drew very near to Merton as she saw that 
this spirit of filial affection was still untarnished 
and unspoiled. Her friendship with Mrs. Lyall 
had taught her that good breeding should go be- 
low good manners right into the heart of things, 
and she recognised that Merton’s attitude in this 
respect was thoroughly well-bred. . Perhaps the 
young man never climbed quite so high as he 
did during that first visit home after his new ex- 
periences, The sweet welcome which Winstow 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


219 


had for him warmed his heart, and the guileless 
admiration of the good people there gave him a 
restful feeling such as was impossible in the 
Mandevilles’ set. The social atmosphere of Lon- 
don had braced him with its clear, sharp cold, 
but it had not chilled his finer feelings — yet. He 
knew a little more of the wide world, and so re- 
alised how small a bit of it is to be found at Ox- 
ford, which he used to think encompassed both 
earth and the prescribed portion of heaven it still 
leniently sanctioned. Moreover, at Winstow it 
was his real self that Merton dared to show — a 
slightly boastful and priggish self, but one that 
rang true on the whole, having fine hopes and 
high ideals of the importance of his particular 
presence in the world, and the work he meant to 
do there, and a touch of boyish enthusiasm 
which “ showed off ” in a simple fashion and left 
his nature free from the cramp of caution regard- 
ing all he said and did. 

On the following day he and Ursula walked 
up to Rennel Hill. They chose the most round- 
about way, through the lanes that led down to 
the water first, and from there wound up to the 
Chase, and they wandered among the gorse and 
bracken until it was time for Mrs. Lyall’s tea ! 
Such a lovely autumn afternoon it was. The 


220 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


woods were all crimson and gold in the af- 
ternoon sun, and the browned hedgerows were 
half-covered with big bunches of red berries, and 
wonderful little russet garlands that trailed over 
them down on to the ground. As yet no taste 
of damp or touch of haze tarnished the burning 
brightness of the country side that day. Cheer- 
ful little rabbits popped in and out of the furze 
bushes as the young couple walked by, and 
bunches of blackberries tempted them to con- 
tinually stop and taste the big ripe fruit. 

“ Isn’t it lovely and brown ? ” exclaimed Ur- 
sula, stopping to catch the fragrant breath of the 
moorland as they reached the summit of the hill. 

“ It is like a picture reflected in copper,” sug- 
gested Merton. “But never mind the view, Ur- 
sula ; I want to tell you about such heaps of 
things.” 

“ And I want to hear everything you have to 
tell,” exclaimed the girl readily. “ Nothing has 
ever interested me half so much.” 

“ I get on very well with Mr. Mandeville. He 
is rather impatient if you don’t grasp things at 
once, but I am learning to do that pretty well. 
And then Lady Clementina and her daughters 
are so jolly to me, and are always asking me 
there.” 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


221 


“ And do you like them very much, Merton ? ” 

“ Rather !” 

“ Better than the country people at home ? ” 
And a tone of sadness touched her voice. 

“ Oh, in such a different way ! You have no 
idea how amusing such girls are. It is just like 
going to an entertainment hearing them talk. 
But it’s rather a strain, all the same, being with 
them. I’m happier here, Ursula, with you,” and 
he looked down at her with a frank affection. 

“ Are you ? ” she said simply, but a smile of 
pure joy was lighted in her eyes. 

“London society is like one long dress re- 
hearsal,” continued Merton confidentially ; “ and 
you musn’t fail in your part, or else ” 

“ What ? Tell me,” as he hesitated. 

“ Oh ! only you wouldn’t be asked again. But 
it is one of the rules of the game up there that 
you should earn your dinner, or your entertain- 
ment, or whatever you are invited to.” 

“ It seems to me a fair rule,” said Ursula 
thoughtfully. 

“ Of course it is. Only, you see, I have had it 
all to learn. And I used to think that going 
into society was just for the sake of enjoying 
oneself, and there would be no price to pay.” 

“But I like things to cost something. We 


222 THE WORLD A HD WINSTOW 


value them more ourselves, and they are more 
worthy of a place in life. Don’t you think so, 
Merton ? ” 

“ I suppose so — only, you see, I have always 
bought things so easily before. I have never felt 
the fear of failing till now.” 

And Merton was infinitely the better for such 
a fear. It prevented his confidence from harden- 
ing into self-satisfaction. But it touched Ursula 
with a quick sympathy, and she laid her hand 
half-tenderly upon his sleeve. 

“ You won’t ever fail, Merton,” she said proudly. 
“ I don’t think you could if you tried.” 

And he was comforted, as he used to be in the 
old boyish days, by Ursula’s loyal admiration. 

“ I feel rather out of it sometimes with the men 
I meet at the Mandevilles’,” he continued, “ and 
yet they aren’t really half as clever as I am. 
But, Ursula, the kind of cleverness I have doesn’t 
count much, and they’d laugh at my love of 
work.” 

“ I should not care if they did,” and her eyes 
flashed. “ There is nothing to be ashamed of, 
and it is a great power to possess.” 

“ I used to think it was,” replied the young 
man slowly ; “ and once I told Miss Mandeville 
how I could forget pain and anxiety over my 


AN AMATEUE CONCERT 


223 


books, and she laughed and said I sounded like 
an advertisement of Sunlight Soap or patent pills. 
I felt an awful fool.” 

“ Oh, Merton !” exclaimed Ursula, “I wish I 
were fonder of books. They never make me for- 
get pain.” 

But it was not that Merton’s love of literature 
was so much greater than Ursula’s, but his suf- 
fering so infinitely less. 

“ But,” she continued, “ it was horrid of that 
Miss Mandeville to make fun of such a thing. I 
don’t like jokes that hurt other people.” For 
Ursula did not see, as Victoria did, of what ines- 
timable benefit it was to Merton to be thus hurt. 

“ So now I pretend it is all a bore. But, Ur- 
sula, the dear part of being with you is that there 
is no pretending. I can say everything just as I 
think, and you never laugh at a fellow, or make 
him feel an ass.” 

Merton forgot that not so very long ago he had 
blamed Ursula in his heart for not laughing at 
things and people more. But he was just a little 
sore now with the rubs and brushings of the 
London world, which showed him his place so 
ruthlessly, and gave him to understand that he 
could only hold that on the system of super- 
annuation which exists in some of the public 


224 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


schools, and insists that unless a boy improves his 
position, term by term, he shall go elsewhere. 
Which is precisely the rule in the school of 
society. 

Besides, it was such a beautiful afternoon, with 
the strange stillness of autumn lying over the 
golden land ; and Ursula’s small, pathetic face 
looked so appealing, and in her grave eyes there 
was a dumb tenderness which rested Merton after 
the fencing of sharp tongues and quizzical glances. 
It was nearly three months since he had seen 
Yiolet Mandeville, and the glamour of her pres- 
ence had faded with the rest of the season’s sum- 
mer sunshine, for Merton always felt the present 
influence to be the strongest. 

“ No, you never need pretend with me,” she 
answered slowly ; and then with a half -smile, “ It 
would not be any use, either, for I should know 
which was the real Merton, and knowing, always 
understand.” 

“ I believe you would, Ursula. It makes a fel- 
low believe in everything that’s good to have a 
girl like you to talk to,” and his voice softened. 
“ I had almost forgotten,” he added candidly, “ in 
the rush and whirl up there, how good and dear 
you are.” 

“I am not good,” said Ursula, shaking her 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


225 


head; “but you won’t forget again, will you, 
Merton ? ” 

And then they both laughed softly — so softly 
that a little rabbit close by, just ready to run to 
his hole, stopped for a moment’s thought, and de- 
cided that two people who seemed so gentle and 
so kind could surely not be on destruction bent. 
And he was right, for neither Ursula nor Merton 
noticed how near the little creature was, for they 
were looking into each other’s eyes, and through 
those windows into the world beyond. 

“ Oh, Miss Grey ! ” shrieked Dubby, flying down 
the road as fast as her fat legs were able, as soon 
as she saw them turning round the corner of the 
winding lane. “ I’s so glad you’ve corned to tea, 
and brought a man what can play with Dick.” 

“ You are provided for, you see,” said Ursula 
with a laugh. And then to the little girl, “ But 
why are not you playing with Dick ? ” 

“ ’Cause something’s happened ” — and Dubby’s 
eager face grew serious — “ what’s made us took 
no notice of each other all the rest of to-day.” 

“ Tell us about it,” begged Ursula. 

“ You see, it was like this,” Dubby explained 
solemnly — “ Dick did something very horrid to 
me.” 

“ And what was that ? ” asked Merton. 


226 THE WORLD AND WIHSTOW 

“ I forget ’zactly, ’cause it was yesterday, but 
it was dreadful horrid, I know. And I had a 
beautiful paper lady all dressed in satin and pearls, 
and we made the arrangement when Dick wanted 
it that he might have it, on’y if I wanted it any 
time back I could have it, you see.” 

“ That was a very good plan,” observed Ursula. 

“ But,” added Dubby sadly, “ we made no ar- 
rangement if we both wanted it together, and 
that’s how the horridness happened when we 
did.” 

“ It was a probable contingency from the first,” 
said Merton. 

“ ’Twasn’t,” contradicted Dubby with scorn ; 
and then, not deigning to notice any more unin- 
telligible remarks, she continued to Ursula, “And 
Dick was out driving with grannie, and it came 
into my head that I would stick a hairpin through 
the paper lady which was asleep in Dick’s cup- 
board. And I did, and made her all spoiled. 
And when Dick came back he was awful angry.” 

“I am afraid it was quite a quarrel,” said Ur- 
sula gravely. 

“ It was, quite. And Dick keeps on whistling, 
and saying paper ladies is only girls’ play, and 
he’s very glad the best one is all spoiled. On’y 
I aren’t,” and big tears filled Dubby’s eyes. 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


227 


“ It was a pity altogether, but don’t cry, dear. 
We will make another paper lady, and paint her 
lovely colours, and give her to Dick to make up.” 

“ And another for me, to make up, too,” sug- 
gested Dubby, with a sudden outburst of cheer- 
fulness, kicking the rich red leaves which car- 
peted the drive in clouds before her. 

“ So you know Clementina Mandeville ! ” ex-, 
claimed Mrs. Lyall, after they had finished tea in 
the long, low drawing-room, and were watching 
the crimson sunset from the terrace wall. “ It is 
so many years since I saw her. Her mother, the 
Dowager Lady Maidenhead, is a dear friend of 
mine.” 

“ She is dead now,” said Merton. 

“But none the less my friend, I hope,” and 
Mrs. Lyall smiled. “ What a merry girl Clemen- 
tina used to be ! ” 

“She is merry still,” and Merton laughed, 
“ and very girlish. She doesn’t seem as old as 
her eldest daughter now.” 

“Her mother used to say that Clementina 
never would take life seriously, or anything in 
it.” 

“ Then she was about right, Mrs. Lyall. For I 
should think it was too late for Lady Clementina 
to begin now.” 


228 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ People seem to me to have a special age of 
their own,” said Ursula — “ one that fits in with 
their characters, and is really their souls’ age in- 
dependently of years. I never could imagine 
Georgina Carpenter to be anything but forty- 
five ; and I don’t believe she ever was.” 

“By that estimate, then, Clementina Mande- 
ville will be nineteen until she dies,” observed 
Mrs. Lyall; “but I like your idea, Ursula. 
There is truth inside it, seeing that we ourselves 
are not the slaves of time, but the children of 
eternity.” 

“ What age is Ursula in character ? ” Merton 
asked the old lady, after a moment’s pause. 

“ I should say thirteen,” answered Mrs. Lyall 
with a smile. “ A little, sad, hard-worked, thir- 
teen-year-old child, with a great store of mother- 
liness for her broken dolls, and a longing to be 
good and wise and clever in some difficult, dan- 
gerous way which she cannot in the least under- 
stand. Am I right, dear?” and she laid her 
hand on the girl’s shoulder. 

“I don’t know. I should have thought much 
more. I feel so old sometimes.” 

“ So does the sad-eyed little girl, I fancy, when 
the dolls are cracked and the lessons hard and 
the frocks torn. Oh! my dear,” and the old 


AN AMATEUK CONCERT 


229 


lady put her arm round Ursula’s slender waist, 
“ I feel you are such a child to know what work 
and pain even mean. But hard experience has 
come to you very early. May brighter days be 
in store,” and here she glanced at Merton, whose 
face was puzzled with the new sympathy for his 
old playmate which Mrs. Lyall’s words kindled, 
“ and may you soon feel younger because you 
are really older in the realisation of fuller hap- 
piness.” 

The girl looked with tear-filled eyes away 
down the river through the film of the low-lying 
mist. Any words of kindness or care for her 
touched Ursula so readily, and appealed to her 
so powerfully. 

“ Don’t you think she is looking stronger,” 
Mrs. Lyall was asking Merton, “ since I have 
had her at Rennel Hill ? ” 

“ I thought she was always pretty strong,” he 
answered, “ but she looks nicer somehow. I told 
you so last night, didn’t I, Ursula?” 

“ It was your bunch of flowers in my belt,” 
and Ursula smiled at Mrs. Lyall. But the old 
lady’s face was rather sad. “ He is not half 
good enough for Ursula,” she was thinking to 
herself, “ in spite of his handsome face and capa- 
ble brain. He is selfish, and he would soon wear 


230 THE WOBLD AND WINSTOW 


out my little girl. But it is no use interfering, 
for nobody is wise or understanding enough to 
interfere, except God. Only I want her to be so 
happy” 

“ I’ve learned all my lessons,” announced Dick, 
suddenly appearing through the morning-room 
window, and then he looked up gravely into 
Merton’s face. 

“Would you excuse me if I asked your 
name ? ” he said politely. And when the young 
man told him, he observed thoughtfully, “It 
sounds as if I had read it somewhere printed. 
Would it be in history, do you think ? ” 

“No, geography,” replied Merton slightly 
flushing. “ It used to be written over my fath- 
er’s shop in Winstow.” 

Dick was delighted at this discovery for a few 
minutes, and then his thoughts returned to more 
serious subjects. 

“ I have been settling, grannie,” he began con- 
fidingly, “that, perhaps, I won’t be a soldier 
when I’m a man, because I want to be a doctor 
so badly.” 

“A doctor, dear?” exclaimed the old lady. 

“Well, you see, Mr. Carpenter says I can’t be 
a soldier if I don’t do mathematics quicker ; and 
I never can. But being a doctor is so easy, 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


231 


’cause I remember what that one in London said 
to me, and it was only things I can say by my- 
self now. But you gave him his fare for it, 
didn’t you, grannie?” 

Mrs. Lyall looked shocked, but Ursula came to 
the rescue. “Doctors work very hard, you 
know, Dick.” 

“But only at curing people. You just take 
their hands and look at their tongues and write 
a letter to the chemist, and then they’re better, 
you see, and you can charge quite ten shillings a 
day. I thinks it must be awfully jolly and easy 
to be a doctor. And I do hate sums.” 

“Where were you going this morning when 
I met you on your pony ? ” asked Ursula, 
seeing that Mrs. Lyall looked somewhat dis- 
tressed at Dick’s sudden fall from the family 
traditions. 

“ A long way down to the mouth of the river, 
where Clay’s sister lives. We met a lot of 
sailors. And, Miss Grey, why do sailors always 
dress like little boys ? ” 

The old lady smiled. 

“Ah! my boy, that is a question the rising 
generation is forever asking, and we leave them 
to find out the answer in their turn for them- 
selves.” 


232 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ Grannie explains things rather difficultly,” 
Dick whispered to Merton. 

The walk home was not quite so happy as the 
one earlier in the afternoon. Perhaps the chill 
of evening, and its heavy autumn breath, struck 
a little cold into the young people’s hearts, as 
swathes of damp rolled up from the river and 
wrapped them round in white, wet folds. 

“ What did Mrs. Lyall mean about your look- 
ing stronger?” asked Merton suddenly. “You 
are quite well, aren’t you ? ” 

“ Oh, yes,” answered Ursula quickly, eager to 
hide every sign of weakness or pain. 

“I am so glad. I don’t like delicate girls. 
But you always seem strong, Ursula.” 

“ I am strong enough,” replied the girl lightly, 
“only every one gets tired sometimes, I sup- 
pose.” 

“ Take care of yourself,” he said kindly, as he 
wished her good-night at the garden-gate, “be- 
cause I should hate to be worried about you 
when I am away, and I want you to be strong 
enough to take care of me.” 

“ Do you, Merton, really ? ” And her eyes 
shone like stars in the misty moonlight. 

“ Yes, dear — by and by.” 

And Merton went home dreaming of how 


AN AMATEUR CONCERT 


233 


sweet and restful it would be to be always cared 
for by Ursula. But she, with throbbing head 
and racing pulse, lay sleepless through the night, 
hugging the new happiness and praying with 
pitiful eagerness that she might always be able 
to hide her weakness and delicacy, the knowl- 
edge of which would so surely come between 
Merton and his comfort, and so, perhaps, rob her 
of his springing love. 


CHAPTER VIII 


JACK KENYON 

“Georgina,” called David from the foot of 
the stairs, “ will you kindly have the little room 
made ready which is next to mine ? ” 

“ What for ? ” demanded his sister, hurrying 
down. 

“ I have a boy coming here as a boarder.” 

“ A boy ! ” shrieked Georgina. “ Have you 
taken leave of your senses, David ? ” 

“Why does the idea of a boy astonish you 
so, considering my profession ? ” he asked half 
smiling. 

“But a boy here will be the most terrible 
nuisance,” she continued irritably, “upsetting 
the house and never leaving us a minute in 
peace. Surely you have work enough at the 
school without bothering yourself with one to 
look after at home, and what makes you bring a 
boy here in the middle of the term ? ” 

“ The headmaster spoke to me about him. 
He is a biggish fellow, but he is fearfully nerv- 
ous in some inexplicable way at nights, and 
234 


JACK KEHYOH 


235 


wakes in a fright, which of course the other 
boys don’t understand and only laugh at him 
for.” 

“And serve him right,” interrupted Geor- 
gina. 

“ He cannot help it, and it is making him so 
sensitive that his school work is suffering.” 

“ Cannot help it ! ” echoed his sister scorn- 
fully. “I never heard such nonsense in my 
life.” 

“ I suppose his nerves are wrong,” said David 
thoughtfully. 

“ Herves, indeed ! It is perfectly sickening to 
see the way such folly is pampered nowadays. 
I would show no mercy on nerves, forsooth. A 
morbid fancy of that kind will ruin the boy. 
A good thrashing would settle the matter once 
for all, in my opinion.” 

“ But not in mine, Georgina. And the boy is 
in my charge, I must beg you to remember, not 
in yours.” 

“ Oh, well, David, I suppose you will have 
your own way, however idiotic a one it may 
be,” she replied huffily. 

“Yes, I shall have my own way in this mat- 
ter,” said David quietly. “ And I do not wish 
you ever to speak to Kenyon on the subject.” 


236 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


Georgina sniffed. “ It is a pity this pre- 
cious darling is not at a dame school,” she 
sneered. 

“ Or else a good thing, if you were to be the 
dame, Georgina.” And her brother smiled to 
himself. 

When David brought the boy home on the 
following day Georgina’s indignation waxed 
seven times hotter. For Jack Kenyon was one 
of those big, ungainly boys, who knocked most 
things over which came within reach of his long 
legs and arms, and then was much too shy to 
offer a proper apology. He was ugly and un- 
tidy and hid his sensitiveness under an almost 
sullen exterior — but David Carpenter had not 
looked into boys’ faces and thoughts for so many 
years without learning to see below the surface, 
and to find the real boy as he was in self down 
underneath it all. 

“ And where are your parents ? ” Georgina 
asked him sharply as they sat at tea on the first 
evening. 

“My father is in India,” replied Kenyon, 
blushing furiously. 

“ And your mother is with him, I suppose ? ” 

“ She’s dead,” he blurted out, splashing the tea 
with his spoon. 


JACK KENYON 


237 


“ Take care,” snapped Miss Carpenter. “ You 
are not at school now, remember, and so you 
must mind your manners a little more.” 

“ Have some cake,” said David, cutting a huge 
slice and pushing it towards him. 

“ Thank you, sir,” and the boy went on eating 
in silence. 

“ What form are you in ? ” queried Georgina. 
Now Jack Kenyon, as most boys, hated to be 
questioned about his school life. He shuffled 
uneasily on his chair and almost muttered : 

“ Upper fifth.” 

“That is very low for a boy of your size,” 
continued Georgina mercilessly. “I am sur- 
prised. You must be far the biggest boy in it.” 

“ Kenyon looks older than he is,” said David 
kindly. “ And, besides, he is not very fond of 
the classics — are you, old man ? But you have 
a power in those finger-tips of yours that 
will serve you better than the classics some 
day.” 

“ What do you mean, David ? ” 

“You draw something for Miss Carpenter, 
Kenyon, or let her see the sketches you showed 
me. He is going to be an artist some day, 
Georgina.” 

“And a poor-paying concern he will find 


238 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


that. He had far better get on with his lessons 
and qualify himself for a proper profession.’’ 

David Carpenter got up from the table and 
laid his big hand on the boy’s shoulder. 

“ An artist’s is the only profession in the world 
for such as you, Jack. Stick to your school work 
like a man, and you will be ready all the sooner 
to begin your career of art. It is a fine one, but 
I need not tell you that.” 

Kenyon smiled a funny, one-sided kind of 
smile as if he were half ashamed of it, but he 
looked up gratefully into his master’s face. 

“ Oh, well ! ” interrupted Georgina, “ that may 
be. But you will have to grow out of all your 
babyish, fanciful ways before you can think of a 
career.” 

“ You can go, Kenyon,” and David spoke 
quickly. Then he turned to his sister and his 
face grew very stern. 

“ Perhaps I did not make myself clear, Geor- 
gina,” he said distinctly, “ but I will not allow any 
allusion made in Kenyon’s hearing to this nerv- 
ous weakness of his.” And then he followed the 
boy into the garden. 

That night, after Jack had been asleep for a 
couple of hours, he woke in the deadly fright 
which sometimes seized him body and mind. 


JACK KENYON 


239 


But, instead of lying shivering and sobbing in 
the cruel silence of being alone, he found his 
master close at hand. And few people would 
have recognised the grave, reserved man, had 
they seen him soothing the boy’s terror with an 
almost womanly tenderness, and holding him 
with strong arms of protection from the haunt- 
ing fear, which he was always unable to explain. 
Jack cried and clung to him in vague distress, 
and David softly whispered words of comfort, 
and then gently tried to rouse him from the 
nervous state, and give him courage and home- 
like assurance once again. And when at last the 
boy fell asleep he was holding David’s hand 
with so tight a clasp that it was long before his 
fingers relaxed their hold. But the man sat 
patiently waiting, making no movement lest the 
hush should be broken and the fear aroused be- 
fore it finally was lulled away ; and as he 
watched the sleeping boy long thoughts stretched 
out and carried him into a future wherein his 
work should hold a place, graven as it was on 
the hearts and minds of the coming generation ; 
but for himself he saw no place, and it never 
struck him that as a man he had a right to one 
— a right to stamp his ideal of life upon the 
future, and then to fight for it with heart and 


240 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


soul and brain. The great pity and gentleness 
which need of any kind woke in him lay like a 
fresh fall of snow over his whole being, and 
changed the expression of his face as completely 
as winter’s touch changes the appearance of the 
bare, brown landscape. And in the silent hours 
which sleep round midnight his thoughts drifted 
away to Ursula, and he longed to bring into her 
life the brightness which it hurt him so that she 
should miss. He saw the little pleading face, as 
he saw it years ago when she first appeared to 
him, and the tenderness of his feeling for her 
welled up as a waveless tide. Then he pictured 
Merton Wain wright in his light-hearted per- 
sonality stepping across Ursula’s path, and light- 
ing with his flaming torch the happy love which 
should shine in her sad, deep eyes ; and a grim 
joy swept over him as he felt that it was he who 
had made Merton in a measure what he was — 
his hand that had pointed out to the boy the 
way of success, his influence and training which 
had made one born of such commonplace stock 
worthy to stand up and offer the girl he should 
love so much to make her happy. So in an un- 
derlying way it was his own gift to Ursula ; and 
the thought gilded the memory of past years’ 
work, even though it left the present darker and 


JACK KENYON 


241 


more drear. He seemed to stand in the deepen- 
ing night and to look at far-off hills still glowing 
under the sunset’s touch, and was unselfishly 
able to rejoice in the light which was sweeping 
over other worlds, even though it left his own 
one cold and dark. 

The next morning Jack Kenyon was clumsier 
and more shy than ever. He was ashamed to 
look David in the face, and brought Georgina’s 
wrath in full measure upon him by upsetting his 
coffee cup in a nervous effort to appear at ease. 

“Upon my word, Kenyon, you are a trial!” 
snapped Miss Carpenter, as the boy ruefully re- 
garded the spreading torrent which an ordinary 
cup is capable of confining. “ If you were my 
pupil I should box your ears.” 

David laughed at the consternation on Jack’s 
face. 

“ What does it matter ? ” he observed with a 
masculine indifference to ruined tablecloths. 

“ That is you all over, David,” continued the 
exasperated lady — “ encouraging boys to be tire- 
some and ungentlemanly. I have no patience 
with you.” 

“ But it was only an accident, Georgina,” re- 
plied her brother good-humouredly. 

“ Only an accident, indeed ! ” she retorted. 


242 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ There is only this or that excuse for everything 
in your eyes.” 

“ Oh ! is there ? ” exclaimed David drily. 
“ Eh, Jack?” And the boy took courage to 
look up and return his master’s smile. 

The advent of Jack Kenyon was an unceasing 
trial to Georgina, and one in which her friend Mr. 
Grey sympathised with her most thoroughly. 

“ I hate boys,” he agreed with her fretfully, 
“ and, in my opinion, your brother had no right 
to bring one into your home, spoiling all your 
peace and comfort.” 

Georgina was soothed. “ It is just that. 
David had no right both for his own sake and 
mine.” 

“ And boys have no business to have nerves,” 
grumbled Mr. Grey, to whom she had confided 
all about Kenyon ; “ indeed, in my opinion, your 
brother is encouraging rather than curing a 
weakness.” 

“ That is what I say. But David spoils the 
boy so outrageously that I can do nothing. And 
a more ill-mannered cub I never saw ; but he gets 
no training from David. Such indulgence per- 
fectly sickens me.” 

While Georgina Carpenter was pouring out 
these wrathful opinions to Mr. Grey, Jack Ken- 


JACK KENYON 


243 


yon was busily engaged in counterfeiting his 
French master’s report, which had to be shown 
up to the head master at the close of the lesson, 
and which, in the event of its proving unfavour- 
able, brought about most distinct trouble. Now 
Kenyon was despairing of ever gaining a good 
report, and so an unholy temptation assailed him 
to make a few copies of some other boy’s and 
show them up instead of his own. 

“ What are you writing there ? ” asked David 
Carpenter, coming by chance into the room. 

Jack mumbled so and appeared so uncomforta- 
ble that his master grew suspicious and held out 
his hand for the paper, which he regarded for a 
moment in silence. 

“ Look here, old man,” he said quietly, “ this 
kind of thing won’t do. ’Tisn’t right. If you 
can’t win a good report, take your thrashing like 
a man, and not much harm will be done. But 
gentlemen don’t do mean tricks like this. Here, 
burn this paper, Jack. I’d rather take my 
chance of a licking than show it up if I were 
you, and I believe, when you think about it, that 
you will, too.” 

“ All right, sir.” And Jack held up his head 
like a man, and tossed the paper into the grate. 

It was not long after this that the boy seemed 


244 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


ailing, and David would not allow him to go 
down to school. 

“ There does not seem much the matter with 
you,” grumbled Georgina, who was determined 
to fight David’s scheme of over-indulgence, as 
she termed it, step by step. 

“ Oh ! I am all right,” exclaimed Jack men- 
daciously. 

“ So I thought. And what Mr. Carpenter 
means by keeping you in the house to-day I can’t 
imagine. It is trouble enough to have a boarder, 
without his being laid up.” 

“ I am very sorry. But Mr. Carpenter said I 
was to,” pleaded the boy. 

“ You had him up again, I believe, last night ? ” 
queried Georgina. 

Jack flushed crimson. “ I felt awfully bad in 
the night,” he murmured. 

“ Pack of nonsense ! You give way too much, 
Kenyon. How do you suppose you are ever to 
grow into a man with such nervous fads and 
fancies ? Mr. Carpenter is very kind to you — 
much too kind — but you ought not to trouble 
him.” 

“ He told me to,” muttered Jack with a hunted 
look. 

“That is where he spoils and makes a baby of 


JACK KENYON 


245 


you,” continued Georgina mercilessly, “ but have 
you no consideration for him ? Disturbing his 
night’s rest after his hard day’s work. He was 
complaining to me only yesterday of how tired 
he was. And it vexes him that you should 
make no effort to improve,” she added severely. 

“ I — I can’t help it ! ” 

“ Of course you can help it, Kenyon. Don’t 
talk such nonsense to me. People can always 
help nerves,” which was one of Georgina’s pet 
theories, never having had a nerve of her own in 
her life. 

“ Oh, here is Ursula Grey coming.” And Jack 
felt that the girl was a very angel of deliver- 
ance. 

“ Father wondered whether you could possibly 
manage to go down and see him this after- 
noon ? ” she came to ask Georgina. 

“ Of course I could if Kenyon were not at 
home on my hands,” spoke out Miss Carpenter, 
with fine disregard of the invalid’s feelings. 
“ But there is nobody to get his tea, and David 
said he was not to wait till six o’clock as usual. 
It is all a ridiculous fuss,” she added angrily. 

“Never mind about me,” and Jack spoke 
eagerly. 

“ I will stay and get Kenyon’s tea,” said Ur- 


246 THE WORLD AND W1NSTOW 


sula quickly, “ if you will explain to father why 
I am late.” 

“ Yery well,” replied Georgina decisively, and 
as if she were conferring the favour. “And 
mind you behave yourself,” she admonished the 
boy irritably. 

“ Now we will enjoy ourselves,” began Ursula 
with a smile. “ Isn’t it a mercy she has gone ? ” 

“ She’s awful ! ” observed Jack from the 
depths of his spirit. 

“And you look so tired,” continued the girl 
pityingly. “ Never mind. I know she has been 
bullying you. Here, lie down on the sofa and 
rest, while I go and discover the tea. I suppose 
Eliza is out.” 

When she came back again Jack lay so still 
and looked so white that she felt full of tender- 
ness for him. The latent motherliness that lies 
in every true woman’s heart beat strong in hers, 
and it was with a special gentleness that she ar- 
ranged his cushions and ministered to him in 
the hundred little ways which a woman’s wit 
suggests. 

“Don’t try to talk,” she spoke softly, “but 
keep still and think nice thoughts.” 

Something in his face made her add quickly : 

“Perhaps she has driven the nice thoughts 


JACK KENYON 


247 


away? Well, never mind. I will run after 
them and bring them back. Did she bother 
you ? ” 

Jack nodded. 

“ What about ? ” 

“Mr. Carpenter.” 

“ Then it isn’t true,” and the girl’s voice rang 
earnestly ; “ and you mustn’t believe it. She is 
always giving wrong impressions about him, and 
has been ever since I was a little girl. I know 
better than accept them now.” 

The boy’s face lightened. “Then do you 
think he doesn’t really mind having me and — 
and all that, you know ? ” 

“ Of course, I am sure he does not. He al- 
ways loves having a special boy. Merton Wain- 
wright used to be one of them,” and a new 
sound crept into her voice. 

“ But he was a different sort of fellow to me. 
I’ve heard what a howling swell he was.” 

Ursula smiled, and there was a dreamy look in 
her eyes which hushed the boy’s unrest. 

“Mr. Carpenter has a very high opinion of 
you, too,” she answered gently. “ Indeed, I be- 
lieve he thinks more of your drawing than of 
all the Latin and Greek which is taught at 
Winstow.” 


248 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ And — and, Miss Grey, I’m not shamming to- 
day — honour bright ! ” 

“ I know you are not. I wish you were,” and 
her voice and eyes were full of pity. 

“I shouldn’t like Mr. Carpenter to know,” 
continued Jack, “ ’cause I wouldn’t now — but I 
used to sham when I could. I’ve got an awful, 
funny, hoarse cough, that means nothing, and 
I’ve had the matron on with that often before 
now.” 

Ursula stroked the rough hair off his hot fore- 
head, and he smiled lightly at the cool tickling 
touch of her finger-tips. 

“ I say,” he half whispered, “ it’s rather cheek 
of me talking to you like this, but — but I feel so 
bad I can’t help it.” 

“Poor boy! I understand. I am so glad I 
came in.” 

“ It’s jolly having you ! ” 

“ I almost think I could tickle you to sleep,” 
said Ursula, drawing her fingers lightly over his 
wrist. “ Shut your eyes and let me try.” 

“Thanks awfully,” murmured Jack, as the 
spell began its work and his heavy eyelids fell. 

When Ursula heard the click of the gate she 
crept out softly lest the sleeping boy should be 
disturbed. 


JACK KENYON 


249 


“ Oh, Mr. Carpenter ! ” she whispered, “ Ken- 
yon is ill, and your sister does not understand.” 

“I was afraid of that,” and David looked 
anxious. 

“ And — you won’t mind my saying this,” she 
begged, laying a pleading hand on his sleeve, 
“ but let him feel that he is not a bother to you. 
I am afraid there has been a little mischief made, 
and he is such a sensitive boy.” 

“ Thank you,” said David simply. 

“He is so fond of you,” continued the girl 
w r ith a little smile, “ but he is ashamed to show it. 
I suppose you understand that boys are like that.” 

“ Yes, I understand that kind of thing pretty 
well.” 

A few days later, as Ursula was walking 
home, David Carpenter came up to meet her. 

“Will you come in?” he asked. “Kenyon 
wants you.” 

“ Is he worse ? ” For she knew that the boy 
had not been getting better. 

“ Yes.” And there was something in that 
monosyllable which told Ursula all the truth. 

“He thinks that if you were to stroke his 
wrist again he would fall asleep. We have all 
been trying, but it seems that nobody knows the 
right way but you.” 


250 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“Poor Jack!” exclaimed the girl, and tears 
dimmed her eyes. 

Georgina stood in stony silence as they passed 
her on the stairs. She was learning a bitter les- 
son just then — that there was no place for her 
on that holy ground where love and sympathy 
stand side by side to meet with death. The boy’s 
restless distress at her appearance, and his pa- 
thetic promises that he would get up and go to 
school to-morrow, would have pierced a harder 
heart than hers. And the hurt stung her with a 
sharpness that belongs to self-inflicted wounds. 
She wanted to do something for Kenyon now, 
but the truth forced itself into her heart that as 
we are on the common everydays of life we 
shall only be able to be at its crises. That what 
we have written we have written on the lives 
of those about us, and there is no possibility 
of beginning a fresh story when the time 
is spent. To Georgina’s arrogance and ad- 
amantine opinions this knowledge came with 
a force that cracks and splits, rather than 
a warmth which melts and softens, and 
with a hard, set face she took up the thread of 
her work, trying to shut the thought of the 
dying boy upstairs out of her mind. 

“That’s so nice,” said Jack, as Ursula tried to 


JACK KENYON 


251 


soothe him. “ I believe mother used to do it 
when I was quite a little chap.” 

“ Yes, dear, I know.” 

“ Your fingers feel like mother’s too. When I 
shut my eyes it seems as if she’d come back.” 

A sob rose in the girl’s throat. The old 
mother-hunger beat wildly in her heart. 

“ Miss Grey cannot stay any longer now, 
Kenyon,” exclaimed David after a long silence, 
“ but she will come again if you want her.” 

Ursula looked up inquiringly, for she wished 
to stay, but David’s look silenced her. 

“ Good-bye, dear,” she said, laying her cheek 
for a moment against the boy’s. 

He smiled contentedly and whispered, “I 
s&y, would you mind just kissing me once? 
Thanks, awfully. It is so long since anybody 
kissed me,” he explained to David as the girl left 
the room. “ Only somehow it makes me want 
to cry,” and his lips quivered. 

“ It is all right, old man ; I understand.” 

“ She’s got the kind of look that makes a fel- 
low want to cry, hasn’t she, sir ? ” 

“Yes, Jack, she has.” And perhaps the man 
and the boy were nearer to each other at that 
moment than ever before. 

“ I feel a lot better to-night — not as if I were 


252 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


a bit ill.” Then, catching sight of his master’s 
face, he asked suddenly, “ Please, sir, am I very 
bad ? ” 

“ Yes, my boy.” And a great compassion 
rang in David’s voice. 

“Am I going to die?” and Jack looked 
startled. 

Then David put his big strong arm round the 
boy and held him close. 

“ Look here, old man,” he said gently ; “ it is 
all right. And if God wants you I think He will 
send your mother to meet you and bring you to 
Himself.” 

“ Are you sure ? ” a little tremulously. 

“ Yes, Jack. I am sure that it will be all 
right.” 

“ Yery well, sir, if you say so. But you’ll hold 
my hand, won’t you, until she comes ? ” And a 
look of peace swept over his worn face and left 
a faint smile behind. 

“ Oh, yes ! I won’t leave you.” 

“Thank you, sir. You’ve been awful good to 
me. I think I’m tired now and going to sleep. 
I’m not afraid now I’ve got your hand. Good- 
night.” 

“Good-night, Jack.” And David sat long 
with Kenyon’s hand in his, as he had done so 


JACK KENYON 


253 


many nights before, though the sleep that he 
was waiting for now would be a deeper one. 
And prayers rose from his heart for the fleeting 
soul, and others followed quick in their train for 
the dear life left — the girl who had the look, as 
Jack had said, that “ made a fellow want to cry.” 
And big, hot tears welled up in the darkness, 
more for the living girl than for the dying boy, 
as David realised for the first time how much 
more bitter Life may be than its silent sister, 
Death. 


CHAPTER IX 


GEORGINA’S MARRIAGE 

“ And what does Ursula say about it ? ” asked 
David. 

“ She has not been consulted,” replied his sis- 
ter shortly. 

“ Do you mean to say that she does not know 
that you have promised to marry her father ? ” 

“ I am sure I cannot tell. I have had some- 
thing more to think about than a bit of a girl’s 
fads and fancies in undertaking so important a 
step. And I should imagine that anybody with 
a grain of intelligence would have seen long 
enough ago how matters were working out.” 

“ I am afraid Ursula will mind,” and David’s 
forehead contracted. 

“ Mind, indeed ! And what if she does ? She 
ought to be only too grateful to me for under- 
taking all the responsibilities of the household 
and the care of such an invalid as Frederick 
Grey. Hot that I believe him to be an invalid,” 
she added half to herself ; “ it is chiefly the re- 
sult of Ursula’s coddling ways. You will see 
254 


GEORGINA’S MARRIAGE 


255 


how much better he is, David, when I am his 
wife.” 

Her brother looked puzzled. He did not un- 
derstand such marriages as Georgina’s seemed 
likely to be — to marry a house and a position, 
with the man thrown in as an extra. But he 
said nothing, only drew a sigh for the trouble he 
knew it would bring into Ursula’s life — which 
was a trouble he fully understood. For Geor- 
gina had ruled his home for a long while, and he 
had felt the weight of her yoke. Moreover his 
shoulders were stronger than Ursula’s, and so he 
sighed again. 

That same day he met Ursula on the river 
path, which was one of his favourite half-holiday 
walks. The glories of autumn in that fair, 
wooded country had faded, but the hillside was 
crystallised into a new beauty by winter’s hoary 
breath. Christmas had come and gone with 
mellow winds and mild, soft days, when the 
brown woods glowed in the yellow sunshine 
against the blue distances, and the grass looked 
strangely green. But early in February a bitter 
frost swept over the country, and even in the 
west its touch was keen and strong. The pow- 
dery snow was blown thin by the searching wind, 
and lay in scattered patches along the hedge- 


256 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


rows. The tender blades of the earliest snow- 
drops somehow found their way through the 
ironbound earth, but the whiteness of their 
drooping flowers seemed grey and faded beside 
the dazzling glitter of the frosted grass. And 
the heavy morning mist from the river had been 
caught and fixed in a million icicles, outlining 
every bough and twig with its delicate pencil of 
snow, and transforming the whole world into a 
crystal -palace against the bright blue of the un- 
clouded sky. A tingling sense of exhilaration 
raced through Ursula’s veins, colouring her 
cheeks and giving her a glad lightness of heart 
which shone in her eyes. David thought he had 
never seen her looking so happy or so well ; and 
he was dumb with pity for her as he clasped her 
hand — that tenderest of all pity which hangs 
over those who are as yet unconscious of the 
trouble we know is awaiting them, and hurts us, 
who are deceiving them, with a keener smart 
than when the blow has actually fallen and they 
turn to us in open grief. 

“Isn’t it a lovely day?” exclaimed the girl 
delightedly. “ So lovely that you have to keep 
saying so.” 

“ Yes,” replied David, sickened with the sense 
of knowing what suffering was in store for her 


GEORGINA’S MARRIAGE 


257 


of which she was ignorant, and feeling a desper- 
ate inclination to blurt it out at once before her 
girlish laughter hurt him any more. 

“ Winter has been so long in coming,” she w r ent 
on, “ I thought there would be no frost and snow 
at all this year. But I am glad we haven’t missed 
such a day as this. This is the third day of the 
hoar frost, so to-morrow there ought to be rain.” 

“ There will be, I expect,” and David’s eyes 
looked dark with distress. 

“ Father is so much better lately, and I am so 
happy in my work at Rennel Hill,” and Ursula 
smiled up at him with a little confiding gesture, 
“and there are so many nice things to think 
about,” for Ursula’s thoughts were generally 
with Merton in London, and her heart was 
surely creeping after them. “ I was just walk- 
ing fast, because it is such a nice day altogether, 
inside as well as out.” 

“ But you mustn’t mind if nice days do not 
last,” and then stopped by a sudden sad look in 
her eyes he hastily added, “ I mean when the 
frost breaks up.” 

“Of course I shan’t mind that,” exclaimed the 
girl in a relieved voice. “And there will be 
spring coming quite soon now. A February 
frost is so different from a November one.” 


258 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ Yes.” And then after a pause he continued : 
“ I heard from Jack Kenyon’s father yesterday.” 

“ Poor Jack ! ” said Ursula. 

“ Poor father ! ” corrected David quietly. 
“ He has no other son.” 

“ There is a lot of trouble in the world,” and 
Ursula’s face sobered. 

“ But don’t you think about it yet, my child,” 
for he hated her to seem saddened, even though 
he was unhappy just now at her joy. “ At 
least, I mean, I suppose you can’t help thinking 
about what happens. Only don’t mind about it 
much, will you ? ” 

The girl looked surprised. She did not under- 
stand David’s mood, and why he talked to her 
so strangely. 

“ Is anything going to happen ? ” she asked. 

“ Oh, no ! of course not. Only things are al- 
ways happening, you know. And it is a pity to 
bother about them, isn’t it ? ” 

“Yes, I suppose so,” doubtfully. 

“ But I must not keep you,” said David hur- 
riedly ; “ it is cold standing still.” 

“I am going to call on the Wain wrights,” 
said Ursula, and she smiled again ; for there is 
always a peculiar pleasure in cultivating the 
friendship of the near kindred of any one in 


GEORGINA’S MARRIAGE 


259 


whom we have a special interest. And he stood 
watching her with mournful eyes as she almost 
ran over the crisp, hard ground. It was not 
often that Ursula’s step was so buoyant. 

“Well, my dear,” and Mrs. Wain wright held 
the little, cold hand in her big ones, “ how well 
you are looking, to be sure ! Is it cod-liver oil 
you’ve been trying?” 

“ No ; freedom from worry, I expect. Things 
have been so much brighter lately.” 

“ It is a surprise that you should take it like 
that. But I suppose when love, or, I should 
say, matrimony, is in the air, young folks smell 
it, and feel cheered as it were. I heard from 
Merton this morning.” 

Ursula’s thoughts raced off to London, and 
she forgot the enigmatical portion of his mother’s 
remark. 

“I am very much annoyed with Merton,” 
complained his sister Gladys testily. “ I spe- 
cially asked him to call and see Bernard Holt, 
and he says he is too busy, and that Bloomsbury 
is too far away, and all sorts of rubbishy excuses.” 

“Now, my dear,” begged Mrs. Wainwright, 
“ don’t put yourself about. I am sure the boy 
can’t help himself, for Merton was always a 
good-hearted lad.” And his mother was right 


260 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


in her former knowledge of Merton — but it dated 
from a time before he went to London and be- 
came Mr. Mandeville’s private secretary. 

“He and Bernard Holt were never very 
friendly, you know,” suggested Ursula sooth- 
ingly. 

“And that is Merton all over,” continued 
Gladys in aggrieved tones. “ He never is 
friendly with people we like.” 

“ But about this engagement, my love ? ” 
continued Mrs. Wainwright, reverting to her 
former theme. 

“ What engagement ? ” asked Ursula inno- 
cently. 

“ Why, your poor papa’s with Georgina Car- 
penter,” replied the outspoken matron, who 
never thought of wrapping up home truths any 
more than stall-holders at bazaars think of wrap- 
ping up their wares when purchased. 

Ursula turned pale. “ I don’t know what you 
are talking about ! ” she gasped. 

“ Oh, come now ! ” exclaimed Gladys. “ You 
can’t be as innocent as all that.” 

“I think there must be some mistake,” re- 
peated Ursula faintly, and clutched by that hot, 
sick feeling which is born of all sudden bursts of 
bad news. 


GEORGINA’S MARRIAGE 


261 


“Well, my love, that remains to be seen,” 
chuckled Mrs. Wainwright. “But, doubtless, 
your papa thinks he is acting for the best, 
though Georgina Carpenter is not the one I 
should choose for all the little fussy ways which 
are necessary to make a man getting on in years 
thoroughly comfortable in his own home. She 
is one that has never been broken in to a man’s 
ways, as you might say, for David has lived his 
own life pretty independently, and it wants a lot 
of practice as well as wisdom to keep the worries 
away from the dinner-table, and to see when a 
man wants a bit of petting and a jam roly-poly 
pudding for a treat.” 

“ Surely you must have seen it coming on for 
ever so long ? ” said Gladys, looking with some 
irritation at Ursula’s pain-stricken face. 

“I never dreamed somehow of my father’s 
marrying again,” said Ursula slowly. 

“Well, then, you are a soft!” replied her 
friend with a little laugh. “ It’s been the talk 
of all Winstow this winter.” 

“ But don’t you take it to heart, my dear,” said 
Mrs. Wainwright kindly, “ for, doubtless, it will 
all turn out for the best. It’s heavy work on a 
young girl having to see to her father altogether, 
and not according to nature, as you might say.” 


262 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“I never found it so,” interrupted Ursula, with 
a little catch in her voice. 

“ Papa was quite hurt at hearing me say so 
the other day when we were talking it over,” 
continued Mrs. Wain wright, not noticing how 
Ursula winced at the idea of her father’s affairs 
being thus discussed in the Wain wrights’ home, 
“ and no doubt it was foolish of me ; but, to tell 
the truth, for the moment I had forgotten papa 
wasn’t in the shop, and so spoke more freely 
about such things. But, of course, it isn’t in 
nature for a girl to find the pleasure in darning 
her father’s socks that she would if they be- 
longed to a young man of her own, though it’s a 
bit difficult for the fathers to realise this ; so we 
must be careful and not talk about things that 
might be hurtful to papa, even if we do think 
them.” 

“ I wonder what kind of stepmother Georgina 
will make ? ” remarked Gladys, with more curi- 
osity than good taste. 

“ Oh, I am sure a very good one,” exclaimed 
Ursula, quickened by a rush of loyalty for her 
father and his choice ; “ it is only that I was un- 
prepared. It was stupid of me, as you say,” and 
the weariness in her voice touched Mrs. Wain- 
wright afresh. 


GEORGINA’S MARRIAGE 


263 


“ Don’t you worry yourself, my love. And if 
Georgina is a bit strict and managing, she might 
be much worse.” 

“She might be a ballet-dancer, I suppose,” 
chimed in Gladys pertly, “ only, as it happens, 
she isn’t.” 

“ She is a bit put out, she is,” explained Mrs. 
Wain wright in a whisper, as her daughter 
bounced out of the room. “ Some little tiff with 
Merton about the Holts. I don’t rightly under- 
stand what it is, but Gladys is upset, and so you 
mustn’t set any store by what she says to-day, 
my love.” 

Ursula felt too numb to speak, but she grate- 
fully squeezed the big, warm hand of Merton’s 
mother. 

“And there will be a place for you still, my 
dear, in the parlour and the kitchen, too, unless 
I am very much mistaken. For those clever 
women who sit on committees and such like 
new-fashioned fal-lals are poor ones for helping 
cook on washing days. But I am sure Georgina 
Carpenter will do her duty.” 

Ursula nodded, and the good lady went on: 

“ Only, you see, there is more to be done out- 
side a woman’s duty than inside, as a matter of 
fact. It’s duty to have the roast beef and jam 


264 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


roly ordered for Sundays, but what’s a wife if 
she doesn’t see that the Yorkshire pudding and 
the horse-radish sauce are not forgotten, and the 
potatoes baked instead of boiled, to look tasty 
laid round the joint ; and the jam in the pudding 
black currant, if that happens to be the master’s 
favourite? To say nothing of seeing that the 
conversation takes no worriting turn, which is 
no easy job sometimes, with a grown-up son at 
home and a son-in-law dining on Sundays as a 
regular thing.” 

And Mrs. Wain wright sighed at the recollec- 
tion of some former stormy seas through which 
it had required all her skill to pilot the paternal 
temper. 

“You always manage everything so nicely,” 
said Ursula, with a little hungry sound in her 
voice; for she felt that a stepmother cut out 
after Mrs. Wain wright’s pattern would not be 
an unmitigated trial. 

“ Practice, my love, and a little sense — but 
they are both needed for married life. Of course 
it is different in courting days — so different that 
girls don’t always realise it, and perhaps it is 
a good thing they don’t, or there’d be more 
broken engagements than there are — for then 
a man likes to hear the woman talk about 


GEORGINA’S MARRIAGE 205 

herself, and she’s nothing loth, you may be 
sure.” 

Ursula was looking through the window with 
unseeing eyes, and hardly heard the words of 
wisdom which fell from this homely source. She 
only was conscious that the sun had gone out of 
her landscape as completely as it had when it 
sank in the bank of mist out yonder in the west, 
and left a chill, grey, creeping fog in its train — a 
fog which quickly wiped out the glow of sunset, 
and passed as a wet sponge over all the crystal- 
lised colouring of that glorious afternoon. 

“ How well I remember in the old days,” con- 
tinued Mrs. Wain wright, “ what questions papa 
used to ask me just to make me tell him all about 
myself — how I did my hair, and such like. But, 
bless you, that doesn’t last ! And when you get 
into middle life, a man wants to be talking all 
about his own concerns, and a good wife must 
always be interested in them.” 

“ Yes,” listlessly. 

“ There’s that story about papa’s lawsuit comes 
in beautiful if anything’s gone wrong in the 
shop, or the meat’s a bit underdone in the 
middle. I just ask a question or two, and 
it does my heart good when once he’s fairly 
started.” 


266 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ I should think you know it word for word 
by now.” 

“ And what of that, love ? Of course I know 
it better than papa does, seeing that I remember 
it as it was told at first, and before all the things 
papa wished he had said afterwards came in. 
But that is of no account to a sensible woman. 
I don’t care twopence about the old lawsuit, 
but I care very much that papa should get 
his Sunday afternoon’s nap without the indi- 
gestion, which a bit of pleasant talk will often 
avoid.” 

“ I know. I always like father to talk during 
his meals.” 

“ To be sure. And somehow a man who’s get- 
ting on a bit like papa seems to have a lot of ex- 
tra old tales to tell on a Sunday. But it is hard 
for the young folks not to show when they are a 
little impatient, though it is a pity. I was beg- 
ging Gladys only yesterday just to laugh a little 
when papa tells that anecdote about the bald- 
ness ; but she is rather willful at times, and an- 
swered quite saucily.” 

“ I have been so much to father ! ” said Ursula 
sadly. 

“ And so you will be still, my dear. Indeed, I 
shouldn’t wonder if Georgina’s ways weren’t 


GEOBGHSrA’S MAEEIAGE 267 

enough to make him think ten times more of 
your sweet gentleness. So don’t you fret.” 

“ I hope he will be very happy with Georgina,” 
Ursula interrupted, “ whatever becomes of me.” 

“ There, there, my love ! Of course,” and Mrs. 
Wain wright put her arm round the girl’s quiver- 
ing form. “But you will want a husband of 
your own one of these days, and it will be nice 
to think there’s some one to look after your 
father when you are married.” 

“ I’d rather have been wanted at home ! ” 
burst out Ursula bitterly. “ And I would never 
have failed him ” 

But then their talk was interrupted by the ar- 
rival of Gertrude Cox, who also was full of Win- 
stow’s latest engagement. 

“ When is the wedding going to be, Ursula ? ” 
she asked eagerly. “And shall you be brides- 
maid ? I think Georgina is too old for a brides- 
maid myself ; but still, a proper wedding and all 
the fine clothes are good for trade,” and she 
laughed noisily. 

“It will be very quiet, I am sure,” said Ursula, 
setting her lips into that marble curve which 
meant she had much suffering to go through and 
would do so uncomplainingly. 

“ Georgina is hardly the one for French grey 


268 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


or lavender,” said Mrs. Cox thoughtfully, “not 
having been married before, which always seems 
to give a woman a right to something rather 
sweet in gowns. I think there is nothing more 
genteel than lavender myself, for one who is get- 
ting on.” 

“ It is, indeed,” chimed in her mother. “ But 
Ursula is feeling a little upset about the whole 
affair just now. She will be better after a meat 
meal and a good night’s rest.” 

“ I hate Georgina Carpenter myself,” remarked 
Gertrude, intending to be sympathetic, “and 
think her a nasty, interfering old cat ; but then, 
that’s your father’s lookout. Albert was saying 
she looked to him the kind that would henpeck 
a man finely, and we had a good laugh over it.” 

“ I must be going now,” exclaimed Ursula, to 
whom Mrs. Albert Cox’s conversation was a con- 
tinual trial, even on days when she was not quiv- 
ering with the smart of such a bitter sore as this. 

“You take my advice, love,” said Mrs. Wain- 
wright, as she kissed the girl’s white face ; “ get 
a bit of something extra for your tea that you 
fancy — and that reminds me that I have a jar 
of potted meat in the house, which was made out 
of the best part of a chicken we had for dinner 
yesterday, and nobody seemed to want, seeing 


GEORGINA’S MARRIAGE 


269 


that there was roast pork at the other end — if 
you will accept it ? For there is no trouble that 
doesn’t seem heavier on an empty stomach.” 

“ You are very kind,” and a tear trembled on 
Ursula’s eyelashes. 

“And just live a day at a time, my dear — for 
none of us are strong enough to carry the whole 
bundle of life’s worries all at once; but the 
sticks by themselves often feel quite light ones.” 

“ Don’t you give up your rights, Ursula,” ad- 
vised Gertrude Cox; “for Georgina’s the one 
who will grab at them, till you have no soul to 
call your own, even. And I wouldn’t begin by 
giving in to her if I were you.” 

“ There, there, that’s enough ! ” interrupted 
her mother, returning with a pot of chicken 
safely tied up in a little white cloth. “ Good- 
bye, Ursula. Come again soon.” 

“ And bring us the details of the wedding,” 
added the unquenchable Mrs. Cox. 

It was such a different walk home to Ursula; 
and she shivered slightly, though the icy chill of 
sunset was yielding to the soft sheen of the 
yellow moon, which was clearing the sky again 
above the mist. At another time she would 
have seen the beauty of the change which was 
stealing over the country side, and showing that 


270 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


there is in nature a more subtle fairness even 
than that of colour in the glorious pictures which 
moonlight can paint in black and white. In- 
stead she only tasted the feel of winter, which 
turned her lips blue, rather than her cheeks pink, 
as it had done earlier in the afternoon. 

Perhaps Mr. Grey was inwardly perturbed by 
the knowledge of what his marriage would mean 
to Ursula, and so in an inexplicable masculine 
way was irritated with her because he was going 
to hurt her. For Frederick Grey was not pecul- 
iar in wishing his way not only to be adopted 
by those about him, but also extolled by them as 
the most delightful and enjoyable way which 
could possibly be trodden by human feet. But 
Ursula could not keep the pain out of her face as 
she poured out his tea, though her lips talked 
pleasantly of ordinary things ; and so Mr. Grey 
was specially cross and irritable. 

“ You are growing selfish and self-centred,” he 
told her querulously, “and want to be taken 
more out of yourself.” 

“ I don’t mean to be,” she answered sadly. “ I 
did not think I was.” 

“Oh! young people will never own up to a 
fault,” continued her father; “but it grows in 
them unconsciously. You always look at every- 


GEORGINA’S MARRIAGE 271 

thing as to how it will affect yourself, without 
thinking of other people.” 

Ursula did not speak. She felt the injustice of 
the attack, and because it was so unjust she was 
powerless to refute it. 

“It has been very bad for you not to have 
been brought up by a woman” — which was 
hardly Ursula’s fault, though it paved Mr. Grey’s 
way to blame her for it. “ I see the lack in your 
character every day.” 

“ I am sorry.” 

“There is no need to cry if you are. You 
know how a scene always upsets my nerves. I 
do beg, Ursula, that you will save me from it.” 
As there was a silence, he went on. “ I have 
been as good a father to you as I knew how, but 
it has been a great responsibility to me in my 
delicate health.” 

And then something touched Ursula with so 
sweet and tender a force that she was glad she 
had no choice but to obey it. She jumped up 
from the table, and knelt by her father’s side. 

“ I know all about it, daddy dear,” she said 
softly ; “ and I want you to be happy so much. 
I will be good to Georgina, and try my best to 
please you both.” 

But there was a higher approbation in Ursula’s 


272 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


consciousness than the somewhat surprised ap- 
proval of her father, and in which she felt a 
sudden calm after the storm which had raged 
within. 

“What was it spoke to me?” she asked Mrs. 
Lyall, to whom she was telling the story next 
day. 

“My dear, if you had asked me ‘Who was 
it ? ’ I think I could have told you.” 

As the girl did not speak, hushed by the loving 
reverence of her friend’s voice, the old lady went 
on: 

“ I was just about your age, Ursula, when I 
first heard that blessed Voice. I had been or- 
dered to bed for some malady which only rest 
and semi-starvation could cure, and in my youth- 
ful health — for I was not feeling ill in myself — 
and high spirits it seemed an intolerable impris- 
onment.” 

“ It must be dreadful to be laid up altogether.” 

“Yes, my dear; it is a stern discipline, even 
to those who have not youth’s buoyancy bound- 
ing through their veins ; but to me — how well 
I remember it! It was my utter impotence 
which made me almost mad. Nothing that I 
said, or thought, or wished, had the slightest 
effect on the machinery of doctors and nurses 


GEORGINA’S MARRIAGE 273 

and regulations in which I suddenly found my- 
self.” 

“ Weren’t they kind to you, Mrs. Lyall ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! in the widest sense of course, see- 
ing that it was all for my good. But I shall 
never forget the helpless misery of first feeling 
myself beaten and unable to resist.” 

“ It was too bad ! ” interrupted Ursula, with 
ready sympathy. 

“No, my dear. It was quite right in one 
way, and possibly best for me, as I was a girl 
with a strong will and vivid personality. But,” 
and the old lady’s eyes looked back over the 
long stretch of years, “it would have been so 
much easier for me if only I could have been 
treated as an individual instead of as a case. I 
was brave enough to do and suffer much in re- 
sponse to personal influence, and very eager to 
learn from any one who would take the trouble 
to teach me. But treatment as an inexorable 
law crushed the life out of me, and I have not 
ever shed bitterer tears than during those dark 
days and nights.” 

Ursula lovingly stroked the fragile, white 
hand. 

“ Of course, dear child, it was very foolish of 
me ; for the remedies cured me, and I soon for- 


274 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


got the strict rules which pressed so hard at the 
time ; but I have never forgotten the despairing 
loneliness which a little sympathetic teaching 
and soul-treatment might so easily have healed.” 

“You always know how people feel,” said 
Ursula, with a grateful glance up into the calm, 
sweet face. 

“ Well, my dear, I was only telling you about 
this long-ago experience as the setting to a 
special fact. It was after this storm of strug- 
gling and rebellion and fret, this helpless beating 
against the bars of circumstances, which only 
left me bleeding, and made no difference to 
them, that a Yoice spoke to me, such as you 
heard last night — a Yoice which spoke without 
language, but none the less truly for that. And, 
as I listened, the bitterness melted and the rest- 
lessness was hushed, and the thought of the cold, 
hard machinery I remembered no more, for I 
knew then that it was a Person after all.” 

“ And that helped you ? ” whispered the girl. 

“ Ah, my dear, it made all the difference. 
For time given up to Him can never be grudged, 
and sacrifices smilingly made for His sake leave 
no scars.” 

“Did your imprisonment cease to chafe you 
then ? ” asked Ursula with a hungry interest. 


GEORGINA’S MARRIAGE 


275 


“ In that wild, wretched way it did. I dare 
say I still looked through the window with long- 
ing eyes, and craved with pathetic hunger for 
the meals downstairs ; but there is no compari- 
son, Ursula, between the galling fetters which a 
bitter and unblessed experience rivets, and the 
check of being for a while held back by a loving 
Hand.” 

“ I don’t think I mind quite so much about 
Georgina as I did yesterday,” said Ursula 
thoughtfully. 

“ My dear, when God calls us to give up or to 
suffer anything He does not expect us not to 
mind. We cannot help minding about things; 
but, because we mind, it is all the more worth 
giving to Him.” 

“ But it seems hard ! ” added the girl sadly. 

“So hard that it sometimes takes a lifetime 
before we find it really easier. But, dear, no 
great lessons can be learnt easily, and we shall 
have to try untiringly for a long time yet.” 

“ She and I have never got on well together, 
you know, Mrs. Lyall.” 

“That perhaps is because you did not know 
each other well enough. Not getting on with 
people means lack of sympathy, and that is gen- 
erally the want of deeper knowledge.” 


276 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“Well, I will try my best,” the girl promised ; 
and her kind friend made the first, hard realisa- 
tion of the home change easier by insisting on 
her spending the next few weeks entirely at 
Rennel Hill. And there, in an atmosphere too 
pure and high for petty feelings and vexations, 
Ursula tried only to look at the deeper thing, 
underlying as it does most of life’s experiences. 
She felt keenly the crowding out of the life and 
home in which she had till now been supreme ; 
for Ursula loved her father blindly, and every 
duty — done for him — had always been sacred to 
her. Now she was no longer necessary, even no 
longer wanted, in the little, creeper-covered 
house which she had loved as home, and it was a 
bitter smart to see this when life settled down 
again into the everyday. 

Frederick Grey and Georgina Carpenter were 
quietly married in a grimy London church one 
chilly March morning, when the east wind 
lurked at the street corners to stab the heedless 
passer-by with its invisible knife. David was 
there to give his sister away, but Ursula did not 
even know of the day which had been fixed until 
afterwards. Yery soon the honeymoon was 
over ; for Mr. Grey was anxious to return to his 
accustomed comforts, and Georgina in a hurry 


GEORGINA’S MARRIAGE 


277 


to undertake her new duties and opportunities 
of reform ; and they had nothing to say to each 
other in that mystic language which only lovers 
use and understand, but in which they never 
grow tired of talking. 

So Ursula was soon called upon to take up the 
incessant burden of routine in these new circum- 
stances ; and Mrs. Lyall grieved to see the girl’s 
face growing thinner and sadder under the fret 
of a daily sore. For Georgina was a hard task- 
mistress, and moreover felt that Ursula needed 
considerable improvement — a process which is 
apt to be a painful one unless the operator be 
all- wise, all-loving, and all-understanding. And 
Georgina Carpenter was not a fraction of any of 
the three. Poor Ursula tried her best to look 
for the ideal, and made many good resolutions 
under Mrs. Lyall’s sweet influence up at Rennel 
Hill — but it is hard to bring the same down into 
the daily drudgery of home life, even for the 
saints who have walked far along the road of 
character-training ; and Ursula was but a poor, 
little, struggling, human girl at its very begin- 
ning. 


CHAPTER X 


DRIFTING APART 

There is something in spring which fills most 
people with a sweet sense of new life and hope 
and joyousness. However dark the winter days 
have been, the memory of their bitterness fades 
before the fresh pictures and the new music 
which nature brings back again to bless the 
world. And even the sadness that fills some 
souls, because such beauty can never again in the 
old way be for them, finds a deeper answer to 
its need in the resurrection life which spring- 
time heralds and foretells to broken hearts and 
buried hopes. So they, too, can look up and be 
almost glad. Her recent worries had worn 
Ursula with a fiercer fret than she had ever 
known before. Her father’s marriage had thrust 
her from her home, and the place in his life 
which she had fancied belonged to her; and 
Georgina was determined that the girl should 
bow to her new authority, and go out into the 
world of work, wherein to earn her right to ex- 
istence. 


278 


DRIFTING APART 


279 


“ She is completely spoiled,” his new wife told 
Mr. Grey, “ and that foolish old Mrs. Lyall has 
only encouraged her in idleness. Send her to 
London to learn typewriting.” 

So Ursula was sent, and Georgina had her 
new home to herself, and began forthwith its 
reformation. But the hope of spring spread its 
golden wings over a larger area than moor and 
forest and field. Ursula felt it in the heart of 
the great city, and the beginnings of her new 
life there. The dingy boarding-house in War- 
wick Street, where so many working girls lodged, 
seemed to Ursula as the gateway of a wider 
world wherein perchance she might find a fuller 
life. She had heard so much of London from 
Merton, and all its delights, that her pulses raced 
with the excitement of finding herself really 
there ; and a smile of eagerness lit up her small 
white face while the tears of bidding good-bye 
to home were hardly dry upon her eyelashes. 
London, to Ursula, seemed very full, for was it 
not crowded with Merton’s life and interests, 
and countless thoughts of him and breathless 
hopes of meeting him ? And it is the one person 
who fills a place for most of us, more than the 
outside five millions or whatever number the 
census population is pronounced to be. It was a 


280 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


long time since she and Merton had seen each 
other. He had not been home since those few 
happy days in the autumn, when Ursula had first 
found out that their friendship held possibilities, 
if not certainties, of a yet dearer, deeper tie. 
She was patient through the training of suffer- 
ing, and had been perfectly content to wait all 
through the winter for the gradual growing of 
the new hope. But the cloud of being sent 
away from home was bright with a silver lining, 
for London, to Ursula, meant Merton, and all 
that Merton meant she had never tried to formu- 
late ; it was enough to fill her life, she felt, and 
that is a large thought to grasp. 

As yet the girl did not realise how many 
worlds are wrapped up in the one called London. 
To live in the same place seemed to her countri- 
fied intelligence to imply being neighbours, and 
she had no idea of the invisible gulf which lies 
between next-door houses, as well as that which 
separates different social sets. Her first Satur- 
day afternoon was a very sunny one, and Merton 
arranged to meet her in Kensington Gardens 
and take her for a walk. Though the trees were 
still bare and black, and the grass but a remnant 
of last year’s faded material, there was a faint 
flavour of the country in the air, which Ursula 


DRIFTING APART 


281 


was quick to taste after her first week’s experi- 
ence of a narrow street. Little bits of bursting 
blossom here and there delighted her nature-lov- 
ing eyes, and the pale spring sunshine seemed 
specially good after several days of dull, grey 
rain and murky fog. 

They both felt a little shy of each other at 
first — Ursula because she had thought of Merton 
so much, and he, because he had thought of her 
so little during the long months which had 
elapsed since they wished each other good-bye at 
Winstow. For Merton was no longer a new boy 
in the school of society life. He had drunk deep 
of its traditions during a gay winter, and learned 
its lessons with fatal readiness. He had been 
much with the Mandevilles, and was increasingly 
possessed with the vivid personalities of Victoria 
and Violet. He had gladly become one of the 
former’s A.D.C.’s, as her many attaches were 
nicknamed; but for Violet his admiration had 
deepened into what he believed to be his life’s 
love, and for which he was willing to give up 
everything and everybody. The excitement of 
her presence and power over him drove all other 
considerations out of his head ; and it was with 
a feeling of impatient disapproval that he heard 
of Ursula’s coming to London, for he had out- 


282 THE WOKLD A HD WIHSTOW 


grown the old life and shaken off the remem- 
brance of any ties there which could come be- 
tween him and this new, wonderful dream of 
one day winning Yiolet Mandeville as his 
wife. 

“ It seems a year already since I left home,” 
Ursula told him as they strolled together over 
the grass, “and London is marvellous. You 
never told me half enough about it, Merton.” 

“ Why, I have told you almost everything I 
have seen or done.” 

“ Yes, I know. But, Merton, I had no idea of 
the immense force of life all round which one 
never touches. The thousand faces that only 
flash by one’s window, and yet the different 
story written on each ! It makes me dizzy to 
try to grasp it all.” 

“ Why should you ? ” argued the young man. 
“ You have nothing to do with people you don’t 
know.” 

“ Only, I want to. It makes me sad to think 
that I can have nothing to do with so many 
lives. Even when I look round on just the girls 
who are learning with me, it seems hopeless to 
think of being friends even with all of them.” 

“ But there is no need that you ever should. 
Indeed it would be an awful mistake, How can 


DRIFTING APART 


283 


you tell what kind of girls they are, and where 
they come from ? ” 

“ But you must know people before you can 
tell what they are, and where they come from,” 
pleaded Ursula. 

Merton smiled a superior smile. 

“ Oh ! must you ? ” he observed cynically. 

The girl’s face flushed. “ Oughtn’t I to want 
to be friends with them ? ” she asked with that 
touch of submissiveness which appeals so 
strongly to some masculine minds. 

“ London is quite different from the country,” 
Merton condescendingly explained. “ You have 
to look out for yourself up here, and mind you 
are not taken in. Is there anybody to see after 
you in this boarding-house place where you have 
gone to live ? ” 

“There is Mrs. Carter, the matron,” replied 
Ursula doubtfully, “ but I don’t think she would 
ever interfere.” 

“Then it is a very improper arrangement,” 
grumbled Merton. “You have no maid, you 
see.” 

Ursula looked up quickly. She did not under- 
stand why Merton seemed so strange and far- 
away. But it was so delightful to be with him 
again, she could not feel vexed. 


284 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“A maid!” and she laughed a little. “You 
are making fun of me, Merton.” 

The young man looked a little ashamed of 
himself. 

“It is rather rough on you having to do 
things for yourself,” he said more kindly. For 
Ursula looked so slight and young, and unfitted 
to fight the battle of life alone. But her clothes 
had a ready-made cut which offended his fastidi- 
ous taste, and he thought how quickly she was 
losing her looks. He did not know that good 
looks in London depend far more on the setting 
than the jewel. There is only time for general 
effects — none for finding out and learning by 
heart all the deep, subtle beauty which is hidden 
from the outsider, but shines pure and true on 
the faces we understand and are beginning to 
love. 

“I don’t mind. I am so used to it. But I 
want to do everything that you would approve 
of,” and her face grew wistful. “ I want to suc- 
ceed in London, too.” 

“ Oh ! girls don’t succeed in that kind of 
way,” said Merton ruthlessly, dashing down 
with one stroke her castle in the air. 

“ In what way do they, then, Merton ? I am 
so ignorant, you know.” 


DRIFTING APART 


285 


“ Girls up here are just ready-made. And if 
they are pretty or bright or amusing or attract- 
ive they are a success, and if they are not any 
of these things by nature, well then they can’t 
become so. That’s all.” 

“ Are you glad to see me ? ” asked Ursula sud- 
denly, with a hungry look in her eyes. 

“ Of course I am,” replied her companion irri- 
tably. “What rot to ask! Only, don’t you 
know, Ursula, I can’t be meeting you like this 
and going for walks as we did in the country.” 

“ You must tell me just what you want, and I 
shall be quick to do it. I don’t understand Lon- 
don ways yet,” and her smile was very sweet — 
the sweetness that comes through suffering and 
shines as the light of evening at the close of a 
storm-filled day. It drew Merton nearer to her, 
and it was with something of his old confidence 
that he answered, — 

“ That’s right, Ursula. I should hate to seem 
horrid to you.” 

“You couldn’t,” she exclaimed eagerly. 

“But it might seem so if you didn’t under- 
stand. You will, though, won’t you ? ” 

“ Of course I shall. Is it that our ways 
will lie rather far apart, Merton, just for a 
time ? ” 


286 THE WOKLD AND WINSTOW 


“ They must. We can’t help it,” he muttered, 
half angry with himself. 

“Don’t be vexed,” she pleaded gently. “I 
know it isn’t your fault. It was stupid of me to 
think that London could be so small, when it is 
bigger than all the country put together. And 
it is so nice just to have seen you to-day. I 
know you will be as good to me as you can,” she 
added, with loyal faith. 

“ Of course I shall,” and Merton looked away 
down the empty avenue of leafless trees — any- 
where sooner than into her truthful eyes. “ Only 
a fellow isn’t his own master always.” 

“ I know — I mean I shall know all about it 
soon. And oughtn’t you to be going somewhere 
else now? Tell me, Merton, for I could not 
bear to be a bother to you.” 

“Well, I promised to look in at Grosvenor 
Square about tea-time, but there is no hurry yet.” 

“You must not be late,” said Ursula quietly, 
“ and besides I am a little tired now myself, and 
must be home in good time,” she added, knowing 
from long experience that the purest unselfish- 
ness is to make the other one feel unselfish in 
granting us their own heart’s desire instead of 
ours. 

“ Of course you must,” exclaimed Merton with 


DRIFTING- APART 


287 


ready relief, “ how stupid of me not to think of 
it ! It has been awfully nice seeing you again,” 
he added with a clear conscience now the verb 
had slipped into the past tense. And Ursula re- 
joiced at the bright look which had come again 
into his face. It took away the unnaturalness of 
Merton as a semi-stranger. 

“ And about seeing you again,” he said care- 
lessly. “ Why, I will write. I am so awfully 
full up just now.” 

“ Could you ever come to tea ? ” she asked a 
trifle shyly. “I would always be in if you 
would let me know.” 

“All right. I’ll look you up. And keep to 
yourself, Ursula, as much as you can.” 

“Very well,” a little drearily, for hard work 
and no friends is not an alluring prospect in girl- 
hood’s eyes. And then the big lumbering omni- 
bus swallowed her up and carried her away out 
of Merton’s world down into the cramped one 
which was contained in the boarding-house of 
Warwick Street. 

And Merton mounted the crimson-carpeted 
staircase of the Mandevilles’ house with a throb- 
bing sense of gladness at the sound of Violet’s 
laughter through the half-open drawing-room 
door. 


288 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ It was a most awful experience,” Lady Clem- 
entina was saying. “ I wonder I am alive to tell 
the tale ! ” 

“ But since you are,” said Merton with a smile 
as he shook hands, “ do tell it to me.” 

“We wanted you dreadfully, Mr. Wain- 
wright,” and Yiolet sent his pulses galloping 
as she looked up into his face ; “ where have you 
been ? ” 

“ Since Thursday ? ” added Victoria reproach- 
fully. “It isn’t nice of you to drop us like 
that.” 

“ My purse was stolen out of the carriage yes- 
terday afternoon in Bond Street,” continued 
Lady Clementina, “ and I was so flurried by a 
policeman’s dashing into my tailor’s where I was 
being fitted ” 

“ With only one sleeve on, like a Hussar,” 
interpolated Victoria. 

“ That I was foolish enough to identify it as 
mine. So this morning I actually had to go to 
the police-court and give evidence. I thought I 
should have died ! ” 

“Poor mummy!” said Violet, stroking her 
mother’s hand. “I was so afraid they would 
hang you or do something awful.” 

“Judges are always like dogs to me,” re : 


DRIFTING APART 


289 


marked Victoria; “their owners assure you that 
they won’t bite anybody but burglars, but I am 
in terror of them all the same.” 

“ They are so snappy,” added Violet ; “ only 
mother hadn’t a judge this morning — only a dull, 
black police-magistrate, whom anybody might 
have asked to luncheon without a qualm.” 

“Yes, I wish it had been a proper red judge,” 
said Lady Clementina. “ Seeing I had to be in a 
trial, I had rather it had been more first-class.” 

“ The court was unspeakably filthy, Mr. 
Wain wright, and mother wore her newest 
Paris gown.” 

“It seemed more respectful to the law, Vi 
dear; and, besides, I thought they wouldn’t 
bully me so much if they thought I looked 
nice.” 

“ But you couldn’t fail to do that, Lady Clem- 
entina, even in your oldest gown.” 

“How sweet of you to say so, Mr. Wain- 
wright ! It is a pity you are not a police-magis- 
trate or a judge. But the dirt really was awful, 
and such terribly infectious people all about! 
You know how frightened I am of infection. I 
always wear a camphor bag in London.” 

“ Is that a preventative ? ” asked Merton. 

“ Of course it is. I have never even had the 


290 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


measles since it was made, four years ago. Well, 
as I was telling you, they actually wanted me to 
kiss a Testament which was black with microbes, 
and which I myself had seen a woman with 
smallpox kiss since I entered the court ! ” 

“ And mother refused, like a Christian martyr,” 
boasted Victoria. 

“Nothing would have induced me to have 
kissed it,” mused her ladyship. “ I would rather 
have gone to prison than have the smallpox, any 
day, as I told the magistrate. So they fetched 
me a clean one. I think I will carry one of my 
own in future in case of emergencies. You can 
get very small editions from the Bible Society.” 

“ I have known oaths administered in quit© 
unlikely places,” agreed her eldest daughter, 
“ even at a smart party.” 

“You can’t think how trying Charles was, 
Mr. Wain wright. He gave his evidence in a 
way which made me seem so untruthful ; and the 
whole thing was his fault for running after the 
thief in the first instance, instead of standing to 
his duty beside the carriage door.” 

“ They asked mother what she said to Charles ! ” 
“And I said that I had told him he could 
make up his mind to what lie he liked, only I 
insisted on his sticking to it afterwards. And 


DRIFTING APART 


291 


everybody laughed — nasty, rude things ! But I 
was obliged to tell the truth, because of that 
bothering perjury.” 

“You get seven years for that, father says,” 
remarked Yiolet wisely. 

“ Isn’t it awful to think of ! ” gasped Lady 
Clementina. “ And just for one little lie ! It is 
a mercy society isn’t carried on in that way, or 
we should all be doing seven years, if not seventy 
times seven.” 

“ Charles lost his head,” Victoria observed. 

“ I can’t be surprised at that, dear, seeing that 
he loses it if any one asks twice for potatoes. 
And then, Mr. Wain wright, they wanted to 
know what I had said to the policeman.” 

“ He was a nasty, officious thing to catch the 
thief ! ” And Violet shook her golden head. 
“ I generally adore policemen, but then I have 
never met one professionally, so to speak, be- 
fore.” 

“ And I had offered the policeman ten shillings 
to let the man go, and the thief another ten if 
only he would clear off and make no more fuss. 
That did not sound very dignified in the court.” 

“ But you looked so dignified, mother dear ! It 
more than made up.” 

“ There was the wisdom of my Paris gown, Vi. 


292 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


It is my opinion if it had not been for that frock 
I should have been at this present moment in a 
felon’s cell.” 

“But you were a witness, not a prisoner,” 
argued Merton. 

“You mark my words, Mr. Wain wright — 
when once you are inside a court it doesn’t 
matter much what you are, you are in a mess 
anyway. And they prove you guilty of hundreds 
of things you have never dreamed of, whether 
they punish you for them or not.” 

“But you left without a stain on your char- 
acter, as they say, and went with me to lunch at 
the Middlesexes’,” said Victoria. 

“As a sort of moral quarantine,” added her 
ladyship. “ Annabel was simply delightful. She 
talked about the police-court mission all lunch. 
I suppose I suggested it to her.” 

“ And what have you been doing to-day, Mr. 
Wainwright?” asked Violet carelessly. 

“ Oh, nothing much. I walked here through 
the gardens and across the park.” 

“ Kensington Gardens are singularly instruct- 
ive on a Saturday afternoon,” observed Victoria, 
with her quizzical little smile. “If it wasn’t for 
Hurlingham, I should often go there to study 


romance. 


DRIFTING APART 


293 


Merton felt himself growing rather warm. 

“ People who meet each other in Kensington 
Gardens are not necessarily in love,” he argued 
in secret self-defence. 

“The men are generally sitting sideways, I 
notice,” remarked Victoria. 

“ Sitting sideways, Vic ! What do you mean ? ” 

“ My dear mother, if a man sits sideways when 
he is talking to a woman, it is an unfailing sign 
that he is in love with her. Surely you know a 
little thing like that ? ” 

Merton remembered how he had sat looking 
straight before him as he and Ursula rested for 
a while down by the Serpentine, but he decided 
that he would not meet her there at all again. It 
would be better to call at Warwick Street, for it 
would be just as nice for Ursula, and there would 
be then no possibility of meeting the Mandevilles. 
This was the first time that the unworthy feel- 
ing of shame about any of his old friends had 
crept into Merton’s heart. 

“We are going to a musical party to-night at 
the Trevors’,” said Victoria. “ Won’t you come 
to dinner and go with us, Mr. Wainwright?” 

“Oh, do!” begged Violet. “Musical parties 
are so dull unless there is somebody to whisper 
to.” 


294 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“I shall be delighted.” And Merton already 
felt leagues away from Ursula and their after- 
noon walk together. 

“ It will be so nice having a man with us,” ob- 
served Lady Clementina, “ for Mr. Mandeville 
won’t go.” 

“He never will to musical things,” Violet 
chimed in. “ He wouldn’t even go to the State 
concert last week.” 

“ Oh, but that wasn’t because of the music, but 
because of his own silk stockings,” interrupted 
Victoria. “ White silk stockings are a red rag, 
so to speak, to a Cabinet Minister.” 

“ It is so like a man to expect to be comfort- 
able in his party clothes,” said her ladyship. 
“Why, ours are seldom short of positive torture.” 

“ I always think it is so tiresome when people 
bother about your horses having bearing-reins, 
considering all the far more uncomfortable 
things we poor mortals wear for the sake of 
looks.” 

“You are right, Victoria,” remarked her 
mother, “ for a bearing-rein would be deshabille 
compared to one of Madame Camille’s waist- 
bands.” 

“ I pity Lady Trevor,” and Violet looked up 
into Merton’s face, and set his pulses hammering, 


DKIFTING APAET 


295 


“ because of that awful daughter of hers — the 
one called Vaseline or Magnesia, or one of those 
names.” 

“You are thinking of Meresia Murdoch — the 
Trevor girl Dickie used to call Mint Saucia.” 

“ Oh, yes ! I forgot,” and Violet’s laugh rang 
out like the trill of a gay little bird. “ But 
Aininta Trevor is dreadful, with her theories, and 
strong-mindedness, and oddities.” 

“ And poor Lady Trevor would so have en- 
joyed a proper daughter,” added Victoria ; “ at 
least, I mean, of course, an improper one.” 

“ Billy Trevor is such a nice boy ! ” remarked 
Violet, with a glance at Merton through her 
long eyelashes. And Merton felt a hot hatred 
for Sir William Trevor’s son and heir. 

That night as Merton was driving through the 
silent, starlit park with the Mandevilles, Ursula 
sat looking out of her bedroom window on to 
the ugly, slate-coloured country which lies at 
the back of most London houses, and from 
which springs the leaden forest of chimney pots 
amid a grimy haze of smoke. So many houses 
all hustled together, for standing room is worth 
too much within the magic circle of our great 
metropolis, and so many more lives crowded 
even into each house. Ursula was sad with the 


296 THE WOELD AND WINSTOW 


mystery of it all, and yet full of a new interest, 
deeper and further-reaching than she had known 
in the old country town where every life came 
in some measure within touch of the others. 
The immensity of London cast over her that 
mantle of awe which we feel in the presence of 
whatever is so much greater than ourselves, 
whether it be amid the solitude of mountains, or 
on the trackless breadth of ocean, or under the 
myriad wonders of the starry night. The un- 
tiring tide of human life, swelling up the huge 
thoroughfares, and rushing down every side 
street and alley, just as the sea comes up to fill 
each channel and creek that branches off into 
the heart of the rocks, awoke new feelings in 
the girl’s heart, which seemed to swamp her 
small life and its petty experiences in one huge 
wave of pity for so much want, which she could 
never even grasp in thought, much less attempt 
to relieve. The dull, seamed faces of hard- 
worked men, the joyless ones of tired women, the 
impish laughter of the squalid street children, or 
the wailing cries of the wan babies no one had time 
to soothe or hush — all these were illustrations to 
Ursula of histories seared with suffering, or tainted 
with the ugliness of cruelty, sordidness, and crime. 
She suddenly wondered in her ignorance how 


DELETING APAET 


297 


any one could be happy in London, as she 
stretched out yearning, helpless hands through 
the open window towards that vast sea of need 
which lay outside. For all great multitudes 
create in thoughtful hearts an echo of that in- 
finite compassion which moved the Christ as He 
trod this earth nearly nineteen hundred years 
ago. 

“ I must do something to help ! ” was her con- 
viction as well as her cry. So another burden 
was piled upon her already heavily-weighted 
conscience ; and before long the inmates of the 
boarding-house — all girls who had their way to 
make in the world for themselves — had confided 
in Ursula their troubles and their hopes ; while 
she, entering into the lives of others with that 
unselfish sympathy which God had planted in 
her heart even as a child, had little time for the 
realisation of those dear hopes of her own with 
which she came to London, as well as few mo- 
ments, except every now and then in the quiet 
of the night, in which to fret about the loss of 
them. 

“ I wish it wasn’t going to be a musical party,” 
whispered Yiolet to Merton as they elbowed 
their way up the crowded staircase of the Tre- 
vors’ house. “ And Lady Trevor is so dreadfully 


298 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


musical that I know there won’t be a single tune. 
It is frightfully ignorant of me, I know, but I do 
like tunes ; don’t you ? ” 

“ Rather ! ” assented Merton, who would have 
agreed with Yiolet if she had expressed a liking 
for penal servitude. 

“ Oh ! ” gasped Victoria. “ There are chairs — 
rows of them. That means I shall have to be 
silent for at least an hour.” 

“ It is very hard,” said her sister, “ when you 
are grown up, to be made to go back into a sort 
of horrid society school. I might just as well be 
ten years old, mightn’t I ? ” And she appealed 
to Merton with a pout. 

“Well, anyway, you mustn’t whisper any 
more,” Victoria commanded, “for Lady Trevor 
is shrieking ‘hush’ in the back drawing-room. 
Think how much worse it is for me to have to 
be silent.” 

“Yes, dear,” sighed Violet. “I do hope the 
effort won’t give you any mortal disease. But 
it’s a risk, I know.” 

All during the time that a very fierce Italian 
was singing a still fiercer cycle of songs, Merton 
was watching Violet, and thinking how delight- 
ful it was to be one of the Mandevilles’ attaches. 
Major Trayne had joined them, and was playing 


DRIFTING APART 


299 


with Victoria’s fan — a fashionable, silent fan, 
perfect in fabric, form, and colour, but, after 
the manner of such fans, incapable of creating 
a breath of air. When at last the songs ceased 
he said in a low voice : 

“Don’t you think we might have a prayer 
now to cheer us up a little ? ” 

Victoria laughed. “I don’t want to alarm 
you unnecessarily,” she said ; “ but I am afraid 
I could not live through another cycle. And 
don’t you think we have earned our suppers ? ” 

“ I do. Perhaps Lady Clementina has already 
gone down. She is nowhere to be seen.” 

“ Oh, no ! ” contradicted Victoria. “ Mother 
is a total abstainer from suppers just now. She 
is dieting herself most strictly.” 

“ What for ? ” 

“ To please Dr. War burton, I think. There is 
nothing at all the matter with her, I am thank- 
ful to say. But specialists always diet you or 
send you to the Riviera, and as he couldn’t do 
the latter in June, he had no alternative but to 
forbid her to eat anything she likes, poor dear ! ” 

“ Think of being forbidden plovers’ eggs,” ex- 
claimed Major Trayne ; “ why, life would be 
shorn of its glory.” 

“ It was so vexing,” continued Victoria, “ that 


300 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


mother had nothing to do on Saturday morning, 
because that is what made her consult Dr. War- 
burton. I had gone to the meet of the coaches, 
and Yiolet was seeing after father. Saturday is 
always such a busy day for daughters. And so 
mother got into this mischief. If only Blanche 
had been old enough to take care of her she 
might have been refreshing herself with lobster 
mayonnaise this very minute.” 

“ Poor Lady Clementina ! ” 

“We had such a dreadful dinner party last 
week,” Victoria confided in him presently. 

“Why dreadful?” 

“Father settled the guests,” replied Victoria 
simply. “ He had a sudden desire to be master 
in his own house, and — well, you know what 
that ends in — socially ! ” 

“ But isn’t Mr. Mandeville generally master- 
ful?” asked Major Trayne, dispensing straw- 
berries and cream. 

“Of course he is, in the House of Commons 
and the government offices, and little places of 
that kind, and nobody objects to it. But a 
dinner party is so important ! You really can’t 
afford to let a man have his head.” 

“ Should you always want to be the master in 
your own house — or rather your husband’s?” he 


DRIFTING APART 


301 


asked, looking at her searchingly through his 
long, narrow eyes. 

“I should always let my husband settle my 
religion and my politics,” observed Victoria 
thoughtfully ; “ but I should settle who was 
asked to meet whom at dinner. And he would 
live to thank me for it. Do you think it would 
be greedy to ask for something to eat ? ” 

“ I think it would be better manners to wait 
until you are offered something,” he remarked 
solemnly. 

“You are really rather nice!” she replied 
with a smile. 

“What shall I get for you, Miss Mande- 
ville ? ” 

“ I should like lobster mayonnaise, but perhaps 
I had better have a sandwich; it will be less 
trouble, won’t it ? ” 

“ It will to-morrow,” he answered wisely. 

“ Oh, Mr. Wainwright ! ” gasped Yiolet, “un- 
less you provide me with immediate provisions I 
am sure I shall faint. Not of a meaty substance 
— it reminds me so of the Fairleighs’ part}^” 

“ What happened there ? ” asked Merton, se- 
curing an ice. 

“ I took a sandwich, and there was mutton in- 
side — cold, unadulterated mutton ! Did you ever 


302 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


hear of such a thing ? I couldn’t eat it, of course, 
and it is always so difficult to make away with 
things satisfactorily.” 

“ Then what did you do with it ? ” 

“ I hid it in a neighbouring vase, and I never 
returned to my mouton. I wonder if it was 
eventually found ? It might easily have been 
traced, I should imagine, as time went on.” 

“ And what do you think about this new Bill 
for the abolition of Voluntary Schools ? ” an old 
county magnate was asking Victoria. 

“ Miss Mandeville hasn’t had any time to think 
about it,” interrupted Major Trayne, “seeing that 
it was only introduced in the House to-night.” 

“ As if that would prevent my expressing an 
opinion ! ” exclaimed Victoria, with fine scorn. 
“ Of course, Sir Edward, I disapprove of the 
abolition of anything voluntary. They will be 
abolishing self-will next, and think how dull we 
shall all be.” 

“ Did you read the Prime Minister’s speech of 
yesterday ? ” Sir Edward asked again. 

“ No,” replied Victoria, “ but I agree with 
every word of it.” 

A few Saturdays after the Trevors’ party 
Merton took Ursula to the academy. He felt he 
was neglecting her, and so was irritated with her 


DKIFTIUG APAKT 


303 


for coming to London at all, thereby putting 
him in a faintly reprehensible position. The 
academy was a sudden spurt of reparation, and 
Ursula’s delight knew no bounds. 

“ It is so good of you, Merton, to bring me 
here,” she exclaimed brightly, as they walked 
up the crimson stairs; “I have wanted to see 
the pictures so much, and yet a shilling seemed a 
good deal for just a passing pleasure.” 

Merton felt vaguely uncomfortable. 

“ I haven’t been here myself since the private 
view, and you never see the pictures then.” 

“Why, it would take weeks to see all these 
pictures properly. How beautiful they are, Mer- 
ton ! it is simply bewildering. And to think 
how much there is through every single one of 
the artist himself, and why he wanted to show 
the world just this particular thing.” 

“ Oh ! I expect they are chiefly guided by the 
best effects they can produce — nothing more. 
As a fellow with the trick of marble painting, 
or distant hills, or blue sea, will always cling to 
that kind of thing, whatever the name of his 
picture may be, or else stick a postage stamp 
of it up in a corner of the whole, however in- 
appropriate.” 

“I don’t believe that,” and Ursula shook her 


304 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


head. “ There is something much deeper than a 
trick in art.” 

“Well, come on. We shall never reach the 
big room if you are as slow as this.” 

“ I do love that one,” said Ursula, tearing her- 
self away from the contemplation of a cottage 
interior, where a girl sat watching the grey 
dawn steal through the unshuttered window, 
while the candle flickered in its socket and cast 
a weird light on to the drawn face of a dying 
man. “ What do you think it means, Merton ? 
I believe she wants him to die. Look at the 
cold despair on her face. How can she sit so 
still ? Because even if he has been cruel to her, 
he needs her now.” 

“There is Miss Mandeville,” exclaimed Mer- 
ton, “ with her aunt, Lady Middlesex. Isn’t she 
stylish, Ursula ? ” 

“ Oh, very ! And her dress is lovely.” 

“ Why, who ever would have dreamed of find- 
ing you here, Mr. Wainwright?” said Victoria, 
coming up to him with her ready smile. “ You 
are improving your mind on the sly,” and then 
she stopped and looked at Ursula. 

“ This is Miss Grey,” stammered Merton, “ an 
old friend of mine.” 

“ Don’t you find him dreadfully deteriorated ? ” 


DRIFTING APART 


305 


asked Victoria, shaking her neat little head. 
“ But I am afraid our companionship has a de- 
moralising effect.” 

Ursula looked up with wide, puzzled eyes, and 
Merton felt distinctly irritated. It was so stupid 
of her not to take her cue and know her part. 
Then Lady Middlesex unconsciously came to the 
rescue. 

“ Are not some of the pictures sweet ? ” she 
remarked vaguely. “I always like those with 
sheep in them best.” 

“ And the Highland cattle, too,” said Ursula, 
with an eager look. “ This one we are opposite 
now, of a herd in the snow, is splendid, I 
think.” 

“ Yes,” added Victoria. “ Cold beef is a 
speciality of Frank Willoughby’s. I begged 
him only last night at dinner to serve it us 
cold.” 

“ I wonder how people can paint snow,” con- 
tinued her aunt ; “ it must be such chilly work. 
I do not think it can be good for them. If I 
were an artist I should always choose warm 
subjects, because my lungs are not very strong.” 

“ What* should you paint if you were an 
artist?” Victoria asked Merton. “I should do 
portraits myself, because it would be so interest- 


306 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


ing talking to the people when they came to sit 
for you.” 

“ That would depend rather on the people, 
wouldn’t it ? ” asked Merton. 

“ Of course it wouldn’t,” Victoria replied with 
fine scorn. “ When other people are uninterest- 
ing it is generally your own fault. Because, 
you see, every one is like a match that wants 
striking. Some people strike on anything, and 
they are the easy ones to get on with, and some 
will only strike on their own particular box, like 
Bryant and May’s; but it is our business to 
supply the striking surface.” 

“It always distresses me,” chimed in Lady 
Middlesex, “ that artists choose the subjects they 
do. So many heathen incidents are portra}^ed, 
and I feel sure that they must have a bad tend- 
ency. I do not think heathens ought to be 
painted.” 

“But they used to paint themselves, Lady 
Middlesex,” laughed Merton — “ at least accord- 
ing to this picture of the Druids and their 
oak.” 

“ Painting themselves is not solely the pre- 
rogative of the heathen,” remarked Victoria 
drily. 

“ If artists will paint savages and dreadful 


DRIFTING APART 


307 


people of that kind,” continued her ladyship, 
“ I think there ought always to be a missionary 
in the foreground. It raises the tone.” 

“ But, Aunt Annabel,” expostulated Victoria, 
“ do you think a missionary would always be 
sufficiently picturesque in the near distance ? ” 

“My dear, a right tendency is the most im- 
portant thing, and every sacrifice must be made 
in order to preserve it.” 

“ What do you think ? ” Victoria asked Ursula, 
wishing to draw her into the conversation rather 
than ascertain her opinion. 

“ If I could paint pictures,” said Ursula ear- 
nestly, “ I should like to choose some simple sub- 
ject that people would not notice of themselves, 
and bring out the deeper meaning so that I 
might show the world the beauty of the com- 
monplace.” 

Lady Middlesex raised her glasses and looked 
at the girl’s eager face. 

“ What a strange idea ! ” she murmured. 
“There seems to me no connection between 
beauty and the commonplace. Indeed, I dislike 
the latter very much.” 

“But we have to live in it,” said Ursula. 

And Merton felt ashamed of her seriousness. 
Why would not she play with words and thoughts 


308 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


as Victoria and Violet did, and not look as if 
everything mattered so much ? 

“ Oh, what a sweet baby ! ” exclaimed Lady 
Middlesex, as they drifted on with the crowd, 
“ and with such a fair complexion ! I am sure 
the man must be extremely nice who painted it. 
Do not you think I might ask him to dinner, 
Victoria ?” 

“ I would consult my uncle first,” said her 
niece demurely, glancing at the catalogue. 

“ Pangbourne was such a pretty baby,” con- 
tinued his mother, “and quite as fair at that 
age ; but he has spoiled his complexion at Eton, 
playing that hot cricket in the blazing sun.” 

“ But it doesn’t matter a bit for a boy, Aunt 
Annabel.” 

“No, I suppose not. But I always disliked 
freckles myself, so it seems hard that my only 
son should not have had a skin that tanned in- 
stead of freckled.” And her ladyship sighed. 

“Come to tea to-morrow,” said Victoria, sud- 
denly holding out her hand to Merton, but look- 
ing towards the pale, shabby girl who was fol- 
lowing them mechanically, as she gazed with 
soul-full eyes on the pictures they passed so care- 
lessly by. 

So Merton felt himself dismissed, and hated 


DRIFTING APART 


309 


the feeling ; and in an unjust way was irritated 
with Ursula as the innocent cause of his dis- 
missal. If it had not been for her presence, he 
knew Victoria would have probably offered him 
a seat in their carriage, and he would have driven 
with her and her aunt in the park, and perhaps 
joined in some piquant little tea-party such as 
his emaciated soul was growing to delight in. 

“ I am sick of this place ! ” he exclaimed im- 
patiently ; “ it is so stuffy. Where do you want 
to go now, Ursula ? ” 

And in an instant the girl knew what had 
happened. 

“ Wouldn’t you rather have gone with them ? ” 
she asked bravely. “ Never mind me, Merton ; 
I could be happy here for hours, and you can 
easily catch them up on the stairs.” 

“ Of course not ! And, besides, they did not 
ask me.” And his handsome face clouded over. 

“ Then will you come back and have tea with 
me ? ” the girl suggested half -timidly ; “ but not 
if it bothers you, Merton.” 

“ All right,” somewhat ungraciously. 

“ I should like to show you where I live. 
And some of the girls are rather nice — Susie 
Wade, for instance. She is an artist, and she 
hopes to have a picture here some day.” 


310 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ I suppose Violet had gone to Hurlingham,” 
remarked Merton irrelevantly. “It must be 
jolly there on a hot afternoon like this.” 

“ You won’t ever let me interfere with you, 
will you, Merton ? ” And her voice rang plain- 
tively. 

And then, because Merton was guilty of the 
feeling, he was furious at its suggestion. 

“ Y ou make me out a perfect brute ! ” he said 
crossly. “ I don’t know what has come to you, 
Ursula.” 

“It was silly and stupid of me,” and she 
smiled bravely ; “ but I see so little of you up here, 
and — and I had looked forward to seeing so 
much.” 

Merton’s temper was passing, and moreover 
he felt a lurking shame at his own ungra- 
ciousness. 

“Never mind,” he said, with his old smile. 
“We can neither of us help it, can we?” 

“I know we can’t.” And the sun came out 
again on her face. “ And I understand how im- 
possible it is for you to see more of me than 
you do.” 

“ Or for you to see more of me,” he added, 
trying to shake off every remnant of respon- 
sibility. 


DRIFTING APART 


311 


“ Of course. It isn’t any one’s fault, but just 
the result of our having to work in different 
worlds.” 

“ Yes, that’s it,” eagerly. “ I am so glad you 
see it in the right light, Ursula.” 

The girls in the boarding-house were greatly 
impressed by Merton Wain wright; and he, 
anxious to make up to Ursula for what had gone 
before, was very pleasant to them, as well as to 
Mrs. Carter, the matron. Merton could be very 
pleasant when he chose. He inquired about the 
little artist’s ambitions, and left Susie with a 
fresh feeling of encouragement and fired with 
new energies to succeed. He described fashion- 
able dishes he had eaten at parties to Josephine 
Riddell, a tall, gaunt girl who was studying at 
the School of Cookery, and regarded entrees 
and savouries as two of the most important 
things in life. He chaffed Mrs. Carter concern- 
ing her chaperoning duties till the little woman 
felt she had an assured position in society, and for- 
got what hard work it was to make a living and 
earn from her impecunious boarders a satisfac- 
tory wage. He praised the strength of the tea 
and the taste of the cake, and altogether there 
never had been so popular a visitor in Warwick 
Street. 


312 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


But Ursula was puzzled. She felt that some- 
thing new had come into Merton’s character 
which she could not understand ; and she knew 
that these pleasantries did not ring true. The 
society training of the Mandevilles was bearing 
fruit in Merton’s superficial efforts to make the 
tea-party at the boarding-house a success, and 
they were laudable efforts, too. Only Ursula 
had never graduated in that school. 

“ Have you really liked it, Merton ? ” she 
asked wistfully, as they turned out for a little 
walk together after tea. 

The young man laughed carelessly. 

“How could I, Ursula? It is a beastly life 
for you to be living in at all. And what girls 1 ” 

“ They are very nice,” exclaimed Ursula loy- 
ally, “ and very kind to me.” 

“ But their clothes ! That little, short-haired 
artist in the terra-cotta dressing-gown is un- 
speakable.” 

“ She is very clever and very good. I always 
enjoy a talk with Susie Wade. She told me the 
other day that ” 

“ Spare me any further confidences of hers, my 
dear Ursula. And that appalling cooking-girl ! 
How can you be happy among such people ? ” 

“ I have no choice in the matter, Merton,” she 


DRIFTING APART 


313 


answered quietly ; “ and life is not so full of hap- 
piness that we can afford to lose even a bit of it. 
There is always some happiness in friendship, 
you know, and I am grateful for it.” 

“Well, you are easily pleased, I must say. 
And what a horrid street this is ! Why did you 
ever come to London, Ursula? Winstow is a 
much better place for you.” 

“ My father and Georgina sent me. There is 
no room for me any longer at home,” and her 
lips quivered. “And I have to learn how to 
work for myself. But I would much rather be 
at Winstow ; the interests here are too big and 
overwhelm me.” 

“ They seem to me precious small in such a 
little boarding-house as that.” 

“ Oh, but, Merton, it isn’t the size of the house, 
or anything outside, which makes big interests ; 
it is the life of the person inside. And there are 
such crowds of people in London that the im- 
mensity of all their different lives is too great to 
grasp.” 

“ Why bother about them, then ? You are 
too intense, and think too much about things. 
But I must be off now ; it is getting late, and I 
am going to the opera. Good-bye, Ursula.” 

After she had seen him drive off in the han- 


314 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


som, a strange sadness crept across the girl’s 
heart, like the shadow of some dark cloud on a 
sunny day. She felt afresh the disappointment 
of seeing so little of Merton, even though they 
were both living in London ; and the little she 
did see was not quite as it used to be in the old 
happy days at Winstow. 

“What a good-looking young man Mr. Wain- 
wright is !” exclaimed Josephine, as Ursula re- 
entered the room. “ And so pleasant, too ! ” 

“ His profile is perfect ! ” said Susie though t- 
f ully ; “ and there is only one fault in his face. 
The eyes are a little too near together.” 

“ I am sure, Miss Grey,” chimed in Mrs. 
Carter, “ it has been a great pleasure to us all to 
meet such a distinguished gentleman. He is in 
the government service, I believe.” 

“Yes;” and Ursula smiled to herself with 
pleasure at their appreciation of Merton. She 
never remembered that the Wainwrights were 
socially very inferior to herself, or that it was 
not in the least an honour for Merton to visit 
her. She was only so proud of him. And the 
cloud was swept away from her thoughts, and 
she felt the old delight again in Merton’s success 
quite independently of all other considerations. 

“ He was so beautifully dressed, too,” said one 


DRIFTING APART 


315 


of the others admiringly. “I should love to 
have a friend who wore a coat like that.” 

Ursula laughed. “ Yes, he always looks nice.” 

“ It is a pity you can’t see more of him,” said 
Mrs. Carter thoughtfully ; “ but I should think 
he might take you out a little more now the 
weather is so fine.” 

“ Oh, no.” And Ursula forgot her own 
slightly sore feeling in fighting Merton’s battles. 
“ He is so tremendously busy, he can hardly ever 
get off. It is so difficult for him to get any time 
at all to himself in the full life of work and so- 
ciety which he is leading.” 

“ But you would like to see him oftener, I sup- 
pose ? ” queried Susie. 

“ Of course. But there is something much 
bigger and better than just having the things we 
like. I would far rather feel how splendidly 
Merton is getting on, than have ever so many 
treats which would hinder him.” 

“I wouldn’t,” exclaimed Josephine; “for 
there are so few treats in such lives as ours that 
I am hungry for all I can get. I shouldn’t think 
about his getting on.” 

“ Then you would not be much of a friend ! ” 
And the light of self-sacrifice shone through 
Ursula’s delicate little face. 


316 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ Miss Grey is right,” said Susie quietly ; 
“ only there are not many of us so unselfish as 
she is.” 

“ But it is not unselfishness,” argued Ursula, 
“when I want Merton to win all the prizes. 
The pleasure and pride in them are as much 
mine as his.” 

“ I think any one is fortunate who has you for 
a friend.” And the little artist shook back the 
short, shaggy hair falling over her keen, eager 
eyes. 

When Ursula fell asleep that night, she 
dreamed that she and Merton were playing to- 
gether again as boy and girl, and her soul was 
possessed with a delighted admiration for all he 
was and said and did. And when morning came 
she brought back with her into wakefulness that 
golden glamour which a dream will so often 
weave round people we know, drawing them 
nearer and making them dearer than they were 
the day before. And the sunshine of that dream 
warmed her heart and lightened her step, till at 
last it faded away into the real again ; and 
Ursula began to feel that the days were dull and 
the work hard when Merton’s time — “ through 
no fault of his own,” she loyally added — was be- 
ing spent so far away. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE WHITE BALL 

The season was at its last leap when Ursula 
received a card of invitation from Lady Clemen- 
tina Mandeville for a white ball. 

“ A white ball ! ” exclaimed one of the girls at 
breakfast, “ what is that ? ” 

“ I don’t know,” said Ursula simply, “ but 
Merton Wainwright will tell me.” 

“ You are in luck ! ” continued Susie Wade. “ I 
have never been to a proper ball in my life, and 
this will be a gorgeous one, I know. How jolly 
for you, Miss Grey ! ” 

A smile was kindled in the girl’s eyes at the 
thought of the coming pleasure. The idea of 
meeting Merton at a real ball filled her with a 
breathless sense of delightful expectation. She 
had not seen much of him of late, but then 
how could she, she argued to herself, seeing that 
her working hours were so long and his engage- 
ments so many ? He had seemed altered, too, 
but that she felt was because he hated to come 

down into the unattractive world in which she 
317 


318 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


lived, out of the beautiful, gay one wherein he 
had learned to be so entirely at home. But at 
the Mandevilles’ ball she would be able to meet 
him on his own ground, and for once enter into 
the joys which so many girls take as a matter of 
course. She was always wanting to climb up to 
Merton, and the disappointments of the London 
life had all, she imagined, arisen from the fact 
that work chained her down instead of letting 
her follow him on his flights. She was perfectly 
loyal to Merton and the thought that he was not 
really so to her had never crossed her brain. 
She would have driven it out as unworthy even 
if it had. 

“Another letter for you, Miss Grey,” an- 
nounced Mrs. Carter, the matron, “it was left 
among mine by mistake.” 

Ursula stretched out her hand with a smile, 
for she knew Merton’s letters well by sight. 
Surely it was all coming right again between 
her and him. The distance there had been be- 
tween them of late would be bridged over at the 
ball, and she would so quickly forget all the 
dreary days behind her when it seemed as if 
they were indeed drifting apart. 

“ A white ball is where all the girls wear white 
and have their hair powdered,” she explained 


THE WHITE BALL 


319 


after reading her note. It was only a hasty 
scrawl, but it said that he should want her to 
dance the first dance with him, and Ursula for- 
got there would be any following ones in the in- 
toxication of that thought. 

“ I can powder hair,” said Susie Wade, kindly, 
“ and shall be so glad to help you, Miss Grey.” 

“ It is indeed a great occasion,” chimed in Mrs. 
Carter. “ There is always something wonderful 
to a girl in her first ball.” 

“ I am old for this to be my first,” Ursula ex- 
plained, “ but there were never such dissipations 
at Winstow.” And her eyes sparkled. 

“ I remember it was at my first ball that I 
met my late husband,” continued the matron 
confidentially, “ and we fell in love at first sight. 
Oh ! it was beautiful, girls ! I often think of it 
as the loveliest sight of my whole life,” and tears 
filled the good lady’s eyes. 

“ It is white because the third Miss Mandeville 
is coming out at it, and her name is Blanche,” 
said Ursula. 

“ What a pretty idea ! ” exclaimed several eager 
voices. 

“We wish the rest of us were in your shoes,” 
chimed in Josephine Biddell, with rather a hun- 
gry look. For girls will still long for pleasure 


320 THE WORLD AND W1NSTOW 


and its possibilities in spite of all the examina- 
tions they pass and the certificates they win. 

“ What shall you wear, Miss Grey ? ” for Mrs. 
Carter had once been a pretty girl, and she knew 
the importance of a frock. 

Ursula’s face fell. “ My only evening dress is 
mauve. And I cannot afford a new one.” 

“ Oh, yes, you can ! ” And Susie spoke eagerly. 
“ Material is so cheap, and we will all help you 
to make it at home, won’t we, girls ? ” 

A murmur of assent ran round the table. 

“You are all very kind,” said Ursula grate- 
fully; “it seems a shame that you should not 
have the pleasure, too.” 

“I can work very quickly,” added Mary Wil- 
kinson, a girl of very humble origin, who cher- 
ished a passionate affection for Ursula. “ And I 
get the latest fashions from the shop.” 

Mary Wilkinson worked in a large west end 
drapery establishment and lodged at Mrs. Car- 
ter’s to whom she had been recommended by the 
vicar’s wife of the country parish wherein stood 
her widowed mother’s humble home. 

“ Something gauzy, I should suggest,” said 
Mrs. Carter. “ There is nothing like tulle or net 
for a girl’s first ball-dress in my opinion. How 
well I remember my own first tulle frock. It 


THE WHITE BALL 


321 


was so becoming. I never knew,” and the 
matron bridled a bit, “ until I saw myself in that 
costume what a pretty girl I was. It makes 
such a difference ! ” 

“ And a sash, I think,” added Susie, “ which 
both looks dressy and ties up the whole thing 
well in the middle.” 

“ It sounds as if you were going to dress me as 
a doll for a bazaar,” laughed Ursula. “ One of 
those that rather skimp buttons and strings but 
are fastened together with pins and a sash.” 

“Must your shoes be white, too?” asked 
Josephine. 

“ I am afraid so,” with a sigh, “ and there is 
another expense.” 

“ Never mind, dear, we’ll manage it,” said the 
indomitable Susie. 

“ I have an old pair of blue shoes,” suggested 
Josephine, “ only I am afraid they would be of 
no use.” 

“ Are they fairly strong and not worn out ? ” 
asked Susie. 

“ Oh yes ! but so frightfully dirty that they 
are impossible, I am afraid.” 

“ I have it ! ” cried the girl, clapping her hands. 
“ I will paint them w T hite.” 

“ What a splendid idea ! ” chorused the others. 


322 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ You are very clever ! ” exclaimed Ursula 
admiringly. 

“ They will look like new,” continued the little 
artist cheerfully. “ Leave them to me, and you 
shall be shod like a princess.” 

“ There was once a ball at the Court at home,” 
said Mary Wilkinson, “ and we went up with 
mother to see it with the servants from the top 
gallery. It was something grand. I often think 
now when I am serving young ladies with fine 
things where they will wear them, and how many 
stories will be woven into them before they reach 
the rag bag.” 

“I suppose every gown has its scrap of our 
history woven into it,” mused Ursula. “ It is a 
nice thought. It must make your work much 
more interesting.” 

“ Yes, Miss Grey, it does,” replied the meek- 
eyed girl dreamily. “ I always feel a personal 
interest in what everybody wants to buy.” 

“ But don’t you get dreadfully tired, and espe- 
cially with those people who only come to pull 
about the things and never mean to buy them ? ” 

“ Oh, yes, sometimes ! But I can’t help being 
half sorry for them, too, Miss Grey, when they 
try to do little mean tricks, and forget that I am 
a woman though I may not be a lady ; and it 


THE WHITE BALL 


323 


shocks me as a woman that ladies should haggle 
and bargain and quarrel just to get things for 
less price than they are worth. They seem 
to think that I am only a piece of necessary 
furniture.” 

“ Poor Mary ! But we workers know what a 
hard thing life is.” 

“ It is a great privilege to mix with all of you,” 
continued the shop girl quietly, “ for I hate the 
talk of the other assistants. But the work itself 
I like, even though it is so tiring.” 

“ I never thought about the girl who served me 
in a shop,” confessed Ursula, “ before I came here 
and knew you. I mean as a girl. Though I 
hope for my own sake I never was rude or 
impatient.” 

“ If all ladies were like you, Miss Grey, we 
should never be worried and badgered by our 
customers in the way we are. I always think 
myself that if I were a rich lady I should be so 
glad to pay rightly for the things I wanted, but 
it is the rich ones that beat us down the most 
and grumble the loudest. It is so strange 
to me.” 

“ I remember that my dear old lady friend at 
home once said that many people who are 
ashamed of ancestors in trade are quite proud of 


324 THE WOKLD AND WINSTOW 


the vulgar, bargaining spirit which is the legacy 
those ancestors have left them. And she has 
always taught me that to be well-bred is first our 
duty to ourselves before it touches other people, 
and that therefore there is no shirking the obli- 
gation at any time or in any place.” 

“Well, all ladies are not like that,” said Mary. 

“Oh, no!” and Ursula smiled. “Mrs. Lyall 
is a head and shoulders above most people in the 
perfection of her breeding.” 

“ I always supposed that good manners were 
like best clothes,” chimed in Josephine, “and 
that they only mattered on proper occasions.” 

“I think they are more like beauty itself,” 
argued Ursula, “ and so by ever neglecting them 
you actually lose them in a measure.” 

“Just as to freckle your complexion spoils it 
lastingly,” said Susie. 

“ Or to break your teeth is an irreparable dis- 
figurement,” suggested one of the others. 

“But you are wandering from the point,” 
broke in Mrs. Carter, “and that is Miss Grey’s 
gown. There is not much time to be lost, for 
the ball is in a fortnight, is it not ? ” 

“ And there is a good deal of work in a dress,” 
added Mary, and we shall only have the even- 
ings to devote to it.” 


THE WHITE BALL 


325 


“ In spite of the sash,” laughed Ursula. 

“I can design better than sew,” said Susie, 
“ but I will do my best.” 

“We all will,” echoed the girls, for Ursula 
was a favourite in the boarding-house. 

“You are all so good to me,” she exclaimed 
gratefully. “It will make my treat a double- 
sized one to go to it with so much friendliness 
and helpfulness sewn into my frock. I can’t 
thank you all enough, girls.” 

And then they all had to hasten off to their 
varied employments. Josephine Biddell to her 
cookery and Susie to the Slade School; Ursula 
to her typewriting, and Mary to her shop. A 
brave band of workers, but rather a sad one to 
those who looked on. For girlish shoulders are 
not strong enough to carry the heavy burdens 
of poverty and hardship and work, and girls’ 
dreams should not all be stamped on the exami- 
nation papers, or framed in certificates of merit. 
But Ursula’s work that day was all different- 
coloured in the light of this coming, crowning 
joy. Girls who are accustomed to enjoyment as 
a right and pleasure as a portion of their daily 
employment could have no idea of what the 
promise of this one evening’s gaiety meant to 
Ursula; but most women will understand how 


326 THE WORLD A HD WINSTOW 


the underlying hope of meeting a particular per- 
son transforms ordinary pleasure into real hap- 
piness with the sweet magic of its touch. 

“It will come right again, and be as it was 
before,” so danced the message across the page 
of Ursula’s typewriting; “or else,” clicked the 
machine, “not quite as it was before, but infi- 
nitely dearer and better in a new relationship 
and the dawning of a brighter day.” And the 
hope grew stronger and bigger and more real 
all through the long working hours, and carried 
Ursula on its silver wings above the grind, and 
toil and heat, till she forgot how her back and 
head and fingers ached, and read with shining 
eyes bright-pictured stories into the dull pages 
of her copy. Perhaps rich people never know 
the full pleasure of such a shopping excursion 
as Ursula and her girl friends arranged for their 
next free afternoon. The planning to buy much 
with little, and to lay out the tiny capital to 
fullest advantage. The delight of finding that 
some things were a little less expensive than 
had been feared, and the earnest consultations as 
to what constituted necessities and what could 
overlap into the joyful column of extravagances. 
They were so merry over it as they sought out 
cheap shops, and pictured all the beauty of rai- 


THE WHITE BALL 


327 


ment which was to be created by their skillful 
fingers out of their simple purchases. They saw 
dresses in windows and thought they had learned 
how to reproduce them. It all looked so simple 
in imagination. And as we value most what 
costs most, so the coming pleasure was enhanced 
immeasurably in Ursula’s heart by all that the 
preparations for it had cost her. Middle-day 
dinner of only coffee and rolls in an A. B. C. 
shop ; long hours of work when she was almost 
asleep ; a hundred calculations, and schemes till 
her head was puzzled and her purse emptied. 
But the result of it all filled the girls in Warwick 
Street with immense delight. It was not much 
of a dress ; the gauze looked poorer and thinner 
over the sateen foundation than they had pic- 
tured to themselves, and there was no style 
about it whatever, but Ursula and her friends 
saw none of these imperfections. To them it 
was all that it should be, and Ursula’s eyes filled 
with tears of gratitude when on the night of the 
ball she went up into her room to dress, and 
found the new frock laid out in state awaiting 
her, with shoes painted white, and gloves cleaned 
into newness, as a surprise, a spray of real white 
flowers and maiden-hair fern, subscribed for as a 
present from all the inmates of the boarding- 


328 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


house. The powdering of the hair was rather a 
difficulty, but with a flour-dredger they managed 
to get a white effect, though they all decided 
that Ursula’s soft dark hair looked much better 
in its natural condition. When all the prepara- 
tions were complete there was a little reception 
held in the sitting-room for general admiration. 

“ How lovely you are ! ” exclaimed Mary Wil- 
kinson, as Ursula stood with shining eyes and 
cheeks burnt crimson with excitement. 

“ You look somehow like an angel,” Susie said 
thoughtfully as she took in the whole effect with 
her artist’s eye, “ but your face is better than 
your dress after all, dear, even though it is so 
thin and small. It has such perfect proportions 
and the curve of the outline is so good, to say 
nothing of those great, beautiful, grey eyes.” 

Ursula laughed brightly. The simple flattery 
and appreciation were so delightful to her hun- 
gry, girlish heart. 

“I should like to paint you,” continued the 
little artist, “ with just that starry look you have 
to-night. I never saw it in you before, Miss 
Grey.” 

“ Dress makes such a difference,” said practical 
Josephine. “Nobody could look starry in an old 
serge skirt and a cotton shirt.” 


THE WHITE BALL 


329 


“ It isn’t all dress,” and Susie shook her head. 
“ It is the expression of something immortal. I 
can’t tell where it lies, only I see it.” 

“ Something immortal, did you say ? ” and 
Ursula’s face grew sweeter with the seriousness 
of a great happiness. “Perhaps you are right 
after all. What is best in life must surely be 
immortal, and when we see it the light of im- 
mortality may be reflected on our faces.” 

“I don’t call this very suitable conversation 
for the night of a ball,” interrupted Josephine. 
“ Miss Grey will go off feeling quite depressed.” 

“Ho, I shan’t,” replied Ursula, smiling again, 
while Susie still regarded her critically. 

“ White suits you extremely well, Miss Grey,” 
and Mrs. Carter adjusted a fold here and there. 
“ There is nothing like white for a girl. I should 
not wonder if this were to prove a most mo- 
mentous evening in your life.” 

Ursula also hoped that it might, and in the 
joy of that thought she stooped and kissed the 
faded little woman beside her. 

“I wish you could all share my treat,” she 
said earnestly, “you have all been so good to 
me.” 

“ It will be a treat to us to hear about it to- 
morrow,” said Mary Wilkinson. 


330 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ You must remember every little detail to tell 
us,” added Josephine. “It will be a real fairy- 
tale to us.” 

“ And you the Cinderella at the ball,” observed 
Susie. “ I hope you will find your prince there, 
too.” 

“Nonsense!” laughed Ursula. But all the 
way she was driving in the cab the old fairy-tale 
about Merton that she imagined in her childish 
days rang in her ears. And she built a glorious, 
white castle in the air that her prince was in 
disguise no longer, but would that very night 
show her the open door of his kingdom and lead 
her in to rule there forever with him. 

A few minutes later the ball had begun. The 
house was turned into a garden of white roses, 
and it seemed to Ursula’s dazzled eyes as if some 
snow queen had stepped down into the middle of 
hot, dusty London and brought her court for one 
evening’s revel there. Big blocks of ice stood in 
the midst of the flower-banks and soft-coloured 
lights shone through them. The crowd of well- 
dressed girls with frosted hair and snow-white 
frocks flitted through the rooms on fairy feet, 
and the flashing diamonds of the chaperons 
gleamed as wondrous icicles in the blaze of the 
electric light. Ursula had never even imagined 


THE WHITE BALL 


331 


so fair a sight, and the thrill of excitement 
kindled by it made her shiver with a glad trem- 
ulousness, and a sob of pure happiness caught in 
her throat as she saw Merton coming towards 
her with a welcoming smile. 

“ Oh, Merton ! It’s like heaven,” she ex- 
claimed eagerly. “ I can hardly believe that I 
am really here.” 

A cloud passed over the young man’s face. 

“ It’s not bad,” he answered constrainedly. 
“Only don’t be so awfully keen, Ursula. It 
sounds silly.” 

The girl looked up quickly. She wondered 
why Merton was not pleased. But great was 
her faith in him still. 

“ I am rather a country cousin, I am afraid,” 
and her face grew wistful, “ but it is such a treat 
to me, you know, Merton. And I owe it all to 
you. I never imagined just a party could be so 
beautiful.” 

“I don’t care for these white balls myself,” 
and Merton’s voice was a little affected ; “ the 
girls all look so much alike.” 

“ I think it is exquisite ; and if the girls are 
alike, Merton, it is because they all look so 
lovely.” 

“ The Mandevilles look better with their golden 


332 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


hair showing,” observed Merton. “ It is a shame 
to powder such glorious hair as theirs.” 

“ I was afraid when I first read your letter 
about a white ball that I could not come, be- 
cause, you know, my only evening frock is 
mauve. But the girls in the boarding-house have 
been so kind to me, and helped me to make this 
one. How do you like it, Merton ? ” And 
Ursula’s voice rang with the joy of perfect con- 
fidence. 

“ Oh ! — all right ! ” in an embarrassed voice, 
“ let us dance now, Ursula. Come on.” 

And for a few brief moments the girl’s cup was 
full. She felt the pressure of Merton’s arm as 
she glided in perfect harmony with him over the 
glassy floor, and under the snowy arches of flow- 
ers, with the wonderful music of the Hungarian 
band in her ears, and the mystery of her own 
happiness throbbing in her heart. 

So full was she of the strange beauty of it all 
that she forgot to notice how silent her partner 
was until they paused for breath, and stood on 
the outskirts for a moment watching the dazzling 
crowd whirl by. Another couple stood beside 
them, and when Ursula came back from her glo- 
rious dreams to speak to Merton she saw that he 
was talking in an undertone to the girl beside 


THE WHITE BALL 


333 


them. An exquisitely dressed girl with a laugh- 
ing face and merry eyes. 

“ Where are you to find me, Mr. Wainwright ? ” 
she was saying. “ I suppose beside mother, or else 
in the conservatory, or perhaps on the stairs, or 
else on the balcony. Oh, it will be quite easy to 
find me.” 

“Will it? I am not so sure of that,” and 
Merton half smiled. 

“ Then you ought to be,” and the girl glanced 
up at him with an arch look. 

“ Who is that girl ? ” asked Ursula, as the oth- 
ers resumed their dance. 

“ Violet Mandeville,” and Merton’s voice sof- 
tened as the name passed his lips. 

“ She is very pretty,” continued his partner, 
but the young man did not answer. His eyes 
were following the graceful moving figure, and 
as the girl stopped again right opposite them, she 
looked across the room with a little smile, and 
Merton’s face flushed and his eyes smiled back 
the understanding which each found in the other. 
And as Ursula, who was always quick to follow 
Merton’s thoughts, looked also towards the girl, 
her eyes were arrested by another figure ; and it 
was a moment before she realised that the strange, 
shabby-looking girl with skimped skirt and tousled 


334: THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


floury hair was indeed her own reflection in the 
large mirror opposite. Numberless couples flashed 
across its bright surface, but yet behind them all 
stood that queerly-dressed figure, with a ghastly 
white face and deep pain filled eyes. For Ursula 
as she looked, saw and understood. She did not 
know that the pallor of her face was partly due 
to the fact that all the other poudre girls were 
delicately rouged and touched up, she only saw 
the immense difference between her appearance 
and theirs, and she knew that Merton saw it, too, 
and what it would mean in his beauty-loving 
eyes. The sheeny satin and glittering trimming 
of the rich girl’s Paris gown made the poor one’s 
simple homemade gauze one ugly by comparison ; 
the exquisite spray of carefully wired flowers on 
Violet’s shoulders contrasted cruelly with the 
faded rose and shrivelled maiden-hair at Ursula’s 
waist. The former’s daintily powdered and 
dressed hair showed how great a failure the lat- 
ter’s attempts had been in this direction. But as 
the full bitterness of the contrast beat into Ursu- 
la’s brain, it was doubled by the knowledge that 
her appearance was not really so strangely at 
fault. That her face was as good to look at in 
its way as that of this dazzling girl herself. Her 
great, grey eyes more beautiful even than the 


THE WHITE BALL 


335 


merry, blue ones ; her small, finely-cut features 
and pathetic mouth more perfect from an artist’s 
point of view than Violet’s piquante, irregular 
face ; and her figure as slim and graceful. It was 
only because one was poor and the other rich that 
this hideous difference was possible. If she could 
have been dressed by Violet’s dressmaker and 
maid she would have been as fair in Merton’s 
eyes as the other girl was now, and he would 
have been as proud of her for a partner. She 
understood now why he had been vexed at seeing 
her, and her girlish heart cried out in the sudden 
hurt of learning the truth. Merton was ashamed 
of her, and she did not blame him for it. As an 
outsider she watched the mirror and she saw how 
utter and almost grotesque a stranger she looked 
in this world of beauty and fashion and wealth ; 
a world which had become Merton’s in the fulfill- 
ing of his life’s ideal, and in which she now saw 
for the first time she had no place. And all be- 
cause she was poor. The knowledge of her own 
sweet face, and her gentle birth, and all the ten- 
der little graces with which nature had endowed 
her to make up, as it were, for hard work and 
humble surroundings, curved her parched lips into 
a bitter smile, for all availed nothing in this 
world’s eyes without money to buy an entrance 


336 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


ticket and as expensive clothes as the other in- 
mates wore therein. So a great scorn took pos- 
session of Ursula’s soul — scorn of a life wherein 
such things as money meant so much — scorn of a 
love which could be weakened and destroyed by 
such a poor thing as fashion, for she knew now 
why Merton had drifted away from her and 
ceased to care for her as he did in the old days 
when she was better dressed than his sisters in 
the little Winstow world — scorn even of a God 
who could allow such piteous gulfs to exist, and 
let a girl’s heart be broken, and her life spoiled, 
for such a small thing as an adequate dress al- 
lowance. 

“ Shall we go on now ? ” Merton’s voice was 
saying. He saw no difference in Ursula, during 
the last few minutes, knew nothing of the open- 
ing of her blind eyes, and the scorching of her 
glad young spirit. But then he was thinking en- 
tirely of the other girl ; admiring her dazzling 
appearance, thrilling at the sound of her merry 
voice, and building with panting excitement a 
glorious castle of his own, of which Yiolet Man- 
deville should be the queen. He had seen with 
the quickness of a lover’s eye, woven into the 
lovely flower spray which Yiolet wore, a little 
rosebud tipped with the brownness of a bruise ; 


THE WHITE BALL 


337 


and he knew that it was the buttonhole he had 
given her in the morning, and which she would 
not part with, even though it faded and died 
amid the fresh fairness of the costly wreath 
which lay across the shoulder of her dress. 

“I would rather sit down,” answered Ursula, 
and her voice sounded to herself as if it came 
from far away ; “ I feel a little tired.” 

“ You are not used to balls, you see,” and 
Merton spoke a trifle impatiently. He was an- 
noyed with Ursula for looking as she did, and 
he was always vexed when her weakness wor- 
ried him or interfered with any of their plans. 
He felt now it was so silly of her to have such a 
splendid treat and to doubly spoil it, both by her 
dress and then by feeling tired directly the en- 
joyment of it had begun. Deep down in his 
heart Merton was a little uneasy concerning his 
treatment of Ursula, and as a salve to his con- 
science he had asked for this invitation for her, 
and he was distinctly irritated by the look of 
misery on her face when he felt she ought to be 
full of delight, and so owe him a debt for her hap- 
piness instead of making him feel an uncomfort- 
able consciousness that he was causing her pain. 

“ Ho, I am not used to your world, Merton,” 
she said slowly. 


338 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ Things change so, you see, Ursula,” and his 
forehead wrinkled. “A fellow can’t help him- 
self, can he ? ” 

“ I suppose not.” 

“And you change yourself, somehow, too. 
But I can’t see how it is your own fault. It 
seems to me nobody can help it.” 

“Yes, things change,” and she spoke wearily, 
“ without its being any one’s fault.” 

“ I am glad to hear you say so,” he interrupted 
eagerly. “You might even not want to change, 
and yet be unable to help it. You can see that, 
can’t you ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! I can see it, clearly enough.” 

Merton’s face brightened. He so hated to be 
disapproved of, and to feel that he was doing 
anything which deserved it. 

“You are awfully sensible, Ursula. So many 
girls are not, and it makes it so difficult to get 
them to understand things.” 

“ What kind of things ? ” and the girl shivered 
slightly, even though the night air which crept 
in behind them through the open windows was 
so soft and warm. 

“ Oh ! I don’t know,” and Merton spoke 
vaguely. Then his face suddenly changed and 
he laid an almost imploring hand upon her knee. 


THE WHITE BALL 


339 


“ I used to tell you things, Ursula, and you al- 
ways understood. You will again, won’t you?” 

“ I expect so,” and a faint hope fluttered in the 
girl’s heart at his confidential tone. 

“You have always been — a sister to me,” and 
the young man’s face flushed with some lurking 
sense of shame, “ and I want to tell you about — 
about Violet,” his voice sinking into a whisper. 

“ Yes?” 

“ It is such a new feeling, Ursula. So wonder- 
ful and strong and humbling, and all that kind 
of thing, don’t you know ? And I believe she — 
she likes me a little — though it seems impossible 
that such a girl — you can see the sort she is from 
her looks — could care for a nobody like me.” 

“You are not a nobody, Merton.” 

“ Oh, yes ! I am — compared to her. She is a 
perfect queen and she is always the best dressed 
girl in the room wherever she may be.” 

An icy little smile froze on Ursula’s lips. 

“ And does that make a girl a queen ? Then 
royalty can be bought and sold at a dressmaker’s 
or milliner’s.” 

“ You don’t know how that kind of thing ap- 
peals to a man,” argued Merton hotly. “It’s 
awfully nice to be seen with a girl who looks 
like that — but when she — she might perhaps 


340 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


even belong to you, it’s — it’s simply maddening ! 
Only it makes one feel oneself such an awkward 
cub.” 

“ You never felt that before, did you, 
Merton ? ” 

“ No, never,” and he laughed slightly. “ But 
everything’s different now.” 

“ Yes, everything’s different now,” echoed the 
girl bitterly. 

“I must go!” exclaimed Merton suddenly 
hearing the sounds of fresh music, “ it is my dance 
with Her,” and Ursula heard the capital letter in 
his voice. “ What will you do ? ” 

“ I will stay here for a few minutes longer. 
You need not bother about me. I shall be all 
right,” and she spoke proudly. 

“ I shall speak to-night, if I dare,” whispered 
Merton. “ Wish me success, Ursula, for old 
friendship’s sake.” Merton thought that by con- 
tinually repeating the statement that he and 
Ursula had never been anything but friends he 
converted it into a fact. And indeed he had al- 
ready convinced himself of the truth of it. Then 
he hurried away without waiting for the answer 
which Ursula’s parched lips had failed to frame. 
And he never came back to her again. Shrink- 
ing into a more secluded corner she sat on alone. 


THE WHITE BALL 


341 


Alone, as she had never been before even in her 
lonely country wanderings, for Nature does not 
desert man as man deserts his brother. There is 
no need to be introduced to her before she out- 
pours her lavish hospitality. Ursula was alone, 
in cruel exile, on the fringe of this gay world ; and 
the air was full of the swelling strains of the Hun- 
garian music which rose and rushed and sang as 
the wind through the leaves of a forest, and was 
lost now and then in the merry voices and laugh- 
ter of the careless crowd. And burned into her 
eyeballs was the picture of that pathetically gro- 
tesque figure which she had seen in the mirror, 
and seared into her heart was the bitter knowl- 
edge that at last Merton Wainwright, like the 
prince in the old-world fairy-tale, “ had entered 
into his kingdom and shut the door,” but she was 
left outside all by herself. “ And for the lack of 
the golden key which men call wealth,” she 
added in her bitterness. 

The fashionable folk trooped down to supper, 
but she was unnoticed and ignored. Nobody 
saw her, though occasionally a few words of des- 
ultory conversation floated into her hearing from 
the couples who strolled by. 

“ Pretty girls, these Mandevilles ! But plenty 
of them to get off for Lady Clem.” 


342 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“That is why they are going to let Yiolet 
have the private secretary. He is a very good- 
looking young man.” 

“ And old Mandeville will find him a berth 
somewhere, I suppose. He is a clever fellow.” 

“ I always knew one of the girls would fall in 
love with him,” continued the lady in soft, drawl- 
ing tones. “ I told Lady Clementina so at the 
first — but she only laughed. She always does, 
you know, at everything. I believe if one of the 
girls wanted to marry a sweep she would go into 
fits of laughter and say how fortunate it was 
that they could now get their chimneys swept in 
the family.” 

And their voices died away as they disappeared. 
The knowledge that Merton was going to marry 
Yiolet seemed nothing new. Indeed Ursula felt 
she could hardly remember a time when she had 
not known it. Once or twice the feeling swept 
over her that this must all be a dream, and she 
should wake directly to the warmth and sunshine 
of the old life of hope. She shut her eyes, then 
tried with pathetic patience to open them on to 
a different scene than this cruelly beautiful one ; 
but alas ! it was her happiness now that was the 
dream and her misery the awakening. 

u I say,” chirped a boyish voice, “ what a lucky 


THE WHITE BALL 


343 


devil Wainwright is ! The lovely Yi will dance 
with no one else to-night.” 

“ They are engaged, I believe. Though it 
isn’t exactly out yet. It’s my opinion the thing 
has only just been settled,” and the other boy 
stroked the place where his moustache would 
not make sufficient haste to grow. 

“ I hate him ! ” said the first one gloomily. 

“ Don’t be an ass, Tim.” 

“’Tisn’t as if he were a decent match, you 
know. Eldest son, or somebody like that, which 
always fetches a girl and puts us poor beggars 
out of the running. But he’s got no people, else 
they’re only for private circulation. You know 
the sort. It’s a beastly shame how some fellows 
always get the plums.” 

“ I saw him dancing with an awful rum kind 
of a girl when I arrived, with a frock of damp 
tissue paper, and a face like a ghost. Perhaps a 
sister ? ” 

“ Don’t know,” replied Tim sulkily. “ Believe 
it was a ghost, for I’ve never seen her since,” 
and he laughed shortly. 

“ Pipping girls the Mandevilles, and always so 
jolly well up to things.” 

“ It’s all very well for you talking like that. 
But I can tell you it’s prett}^ sickening when you 


344 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


ask the only girl you care for to dance and she 
says her programme is full when you know it 
isn’t.” 

“ Oh ! rot, about the only girl you care for ! 
There’s loads of others ; and if you must have a 
Mandeville there are plenty more of them. 
Here’s Blanche out now, besides the kids up- 
stairs.” 

“ Dash the kids upstairs ! ” exclaimed the 
blighted youth angrily. “ As if a fellow could 
console himself with them. What an ass you are, 
Dick ! ” 

“ Come on, old chap. It’s the lancers next. 
Bags me in your set, and we’ll have kitchen 
ones.” 

Tim’s face brightened. 

“ All right. Mind you get no dowagers in, 
they are all so beastly straight-laced.” 

“ Bar Lady Clem ” 

And then they disappeared and Ursula heard 
no more. 

“ I believe it was a ghost,” she repeated to her- 
self with a hard, unchildish smile. “ The ghost 
of a girl who once was happy before she knew 
the exact market value of a fine frock in the eyes 
of the world. A value infinitely above what I 
ever dreamed even fortunes could buy.” So bit- 


THE WHITE BALL 


345 


ter thoughts leapt up in her sore spirit, and 
robbed her of all her faith and hope and love, 
and she sat on unconscious of everything except 
the new misery which seemed wrapt in a pall of 
white flowers, the scent of which for long after- 
wards sickened her with memories of that even- 
ing’s bitter experience. 

When at last it was all over and Ursula driving 
back alone through the familiar streets, which 
looked so unfamiliar in the soft, grey light of 
dawn, she began to feel how physically faint and 
exhausted she was. She looked mistily at the 
clean white programme with only Merton’s in- 
itials written opposite the first dance, and then 
with cold trembling fingers she tore it across and 
dropped it through the cab’s open window. As 
she wearily mounted the stairs which led to her 
attic bedroom, eager faces peeped out through 
the open doors. 

“ How did you enjoy it ? ” 

“ What was it like ? ” 

“Tell about the party,” clamoured the impa- 
tient voices, and Ursula, looking at the kindly 
faces and remembering their untiring efforts 
for her enjoyment in that long-ago yesterday, 
resolved that they should not be disappointed, 
too. 


346 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ It was a perfect dream of beauty,” she an- 
swered brightly. “ Far more lovely than I 
ever imagined. It will take hours to describe 
it all.” 

“ I wish I had been there in some hidden cor- 
ner to see you dancing,” exclaimed Mary Wil- 
kinson. 

‘•I am simply longing to hear all about it,” 
said J osephine. “ We have been talking about you 
all the evening, and trying to picture you having 
your splendid time and being one of the grand 
ladies at the ball.” 

“How clean you have kept your dress and 
shoes,” observed Mrs. Carter, a quaint object in 
a crumpled old dressing-gOAvn with a wisp of 
grey hair screwed up into a knob above her 
withered, grey face. “But I suppose grand 
houses like that are kept free from smuts and 
dust ? ” 

“ It was more like a snow palace than a Lon- 
don house,” replied Ursula, seeing, with her 
tired, tearless eyes, the great gulf which poverty 
draws between houses as well as lives, “ only the 
snow was of flowers and the icicles of precious 
stones.” 

“ How wonderful ! ” And Susie’s sleepy face 
lit up with the idea. 


THE WHITE BALL 


347 


“ But you are looking very fagged,” said Mary ; 
“ can’t I get you anything, Miss Grey ? ” 

“ Some water, please,” gasped Ursula, as she 
felt a sudden faintness — perhaps from hunger, 
perhaps from hopelessness — sweep over her. 

“ Of course she is fagged,” added Josephine, 
while Mary flew for the water, “and thirsty. 
There is no more thirsty work than dancing, 
especially on a hot night like this.” 

“Tell us more about yourself, Miss Grey,” 
begged Mrs. Carter, when Ursula had drained 
the glass, “ what you enjoyed most, and who 
were all your partners ? It is the correct thing to 
count up your conquests on the night of a ball, I 
have always heard.” 

Ursula laughed a dead little laugh. 

“But perhaps there are things she doesn’t 
want to tell,” chimed in Susie. “ I always think 
the nicest things won’t bear telling.” 

“And how did your dress look amongst the 
others ? ” asked Mary, lovingly stroking out its 
scant folds. 

“ I want to thank you all for helping me make 
it,” answered Ursula quickly. “I could never 
have gone to the ball if you had not all been so 
good to me.” 

Then something in the girl’s face caused Susie 


348 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


to exclaim, “ But you are looking so tired, Miss 
Grey, we must not keep you talking here. You 
ought to go to bed at once for you have to be up 
early just the same.” 

“ And I expect you have danced several miles,” 
added Josephine. “We don’t realise that.” 

“ I wish you need not have gone to work to- 
morrow,” and Mary’s kind face clouded over. 

“ Oh, it doesn’t matter,” said Ursula, who felt 
that nothing would ever matter again; “we 
working girls have to go on — until we drop, I 
suppose, and it is no use expecting anything 
different.” 

“A peep into fairyland makes a typewriting 
office seem dull, no doubt,” said Josephine dryly. 

“ Ah ! you should all work at the Slade,” and 
Susie smiled with the pure happiness of an artist, 
“ and then you would find out that there is no 
pleasure to be compared with creative work, and 
that the fairyland lies in your own imagination, 
and nothing can rob you of that.” 

“We cannot all be as clever as you,” said 
Ursula’s lips, but her eyes were looking far away 
into that fairyland of which some one had 
robbed her. And long after the others had 
fallen asleep again the girl lay wearily watching 
the growing light and wondering why it could 


THE WHITE BALL 


349 


be that some lives should overflow with happi- 
ness and others be starved of even the crumbs 
which fall from the rich man’s table. A rest- 
lessness of misery possessed her till the sight of 
the few faded flowers touched by the first gleams 
of sunlight which crept through the blind, sud- 
denly brought a lump in her throat and a rush 
of tears into her eyes. 

“ The same white flowers are used for wed- 
dings and funerals,” she whispered with quiver- 
ing lips, “and these are funeral flowers, not 
wedding ones as the girls so innocently thought 
when they bought them for me. For to-night I 
have buried my faith in man and God. I do not 
believe any more in love, so there is nothing left 
to make earth beautiful or heaven real. Love ! ” 
and bitter tears rolled down her wan face, “is 
only a fantastic name for something which 
money can buy, and rich people play with. I 
could not pay its price and so I lost it. That is 
all. And the God that lets His gifts be ticketed 
and priced, shall not be my God. I do not be- 
lieve,” and here she stretched out pleading 
hands, “ that there can be a God of Love at all 
or else He could not be so cruel.” 

So Ursula, as countless others in their igno- 
rance have done before her, turned in defiance 


350 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


towards God for the suffering which man has 
wrought, and let the blindness of anguish shut 
out the heavenly vision. 

The murky atmosphere soon shrouded the 
summer sun and a heavy, hot fog hung over the 
working world of London which has to be up 
and out so long before west-end breakfasts are 
ready. As Ursula went out into it she was al- 
most too tired to wonder whether the streets 
could really be the same as those which had used 
to be lined with all the girlish daydreams and 
hopes of the past few weeks; too stunned to 
realise that her old self was slain and a new, 
bitter, miserable Ursula born in its stead. The 
sultry clouds which covered the sky seemed to 
have sunk also into her soul and blotted out all 
the beauty she had once seen. Blue sky, sunset 
colours, shining stars all forgotten because of 
that heavy pall of smoke which the hot, lifeless 
air was too tired to raise. And in a dim way 
Ursula felt that it was a picture of her life, only 
Nature’s clouds would roll away but those which 
darkened her horizon had come to stay. So does 
life look when we pass through its shadows, and 
our dim faith falters because of our blurred 
sight. It is in hours such as these that we need 
to cry with the sufferers of old that our eyes 


THE WHITE BALL 


351 


may be opened ; so that He who passes by may 
again stand still, and, having compassion upon . 
us, touch our eyes, that we, having received our 
sight, may follow Him. 


CHAPTER XII 


INTO THE VALLEY 

It was only a few days after the Mandevilles’ 
ball that Ursula received a letter from Merton, 
though to her it seemed more like many months. 
A letter full of himself, just as all Merton’s 
letters were wont to be, only hitherto Ursula 
had rejoiced in them for that very reason. 

“ Dear Ursula,” it ran, “ such a wonderful 
thing has happened. I am engaged to Yiolet 
Mandeville. I can hardly believe in my good 
fortune, for I dared not realty hope she would 
ever have me. I am almost wild with delight, 
only of course I have to hide it rather for fear of 
making a fool of myself. I mean before the 
others. Yiolet doesn’t think me a fool, though 
she calls me a silty boy. Isn’t it dear of her ? 
I am awfully glad I am such a clever fellow be- 
cause it is that which makes Mr. Mandeville will- 
ing to give his consent — and it is a tremendous 
piece of luck, too ; for, of course, as his son-in- 

law, I shall have a splendid chance of getting on. 

352 


INTO THE YALLEY 


353 


I was in such a funk when I had to ask him. 
Yiolet was, rather, as well ; though she is much 
too plucky ever to show when she minds about 
anything. She despises people who do, so I 
never shall again. It is much better bred not 
to, I find. I need not tell you anything about 
Yiolet because you saw her for yourself at the 
ball, so you know how lovely she is and how per- 
fectly she dresses, and what a lucky fellow I am. 
The last two days have been ripping. I always 
thought the world a jolly place, but this just 
beats everything. I am going into the country 
with the Mandevilles for Sunday, and to Kerrie- 
sort Lodge, their place in the far north of Scot- 
land next month for my holiday which I am 
taking then. So I am pretty busy and afraid I 
shan’t be able to see you again before I go. Ex- 
cuse rather a hurried letter. 

“ Yours in haste, 

“ Merton Wainwright. 

“ P. S. I am so sorry I never saw you again at 
the ball. It was all this happening that made 
me forget my duties, and I expect my manners, 
too. But you will make allowances for the 
special circumstances and forgive me, I know. 
Hope you got on all right.” 


354: THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ I would rather be forgotten than remembered 
only as a duty or for good manners,” said the 
girl proudly to herself as she tore up the letter. 
And then she wondered why it was that she 
could tear up a letter from Merton with so little 
regret. She had never done so before. She 
even smiled half-scornfully at the small selfish- 
ness of its tone, and felt no active pain at the 
new realisation that her fear was now a fact, and 
Merton’s affection for herself but a forgotten 
dream. 

“ What a fool I have been to believe in the old 
things,” she thought bitterly. “To ever have 
imagined that I — a poor, badly-dressed working 
girl — could be cared for in that one, best way 
that only fills a woman’s life. Why did no one 
teach me that because I was poor I could never 
afford to buy happiness, and so must live and die 
in the dull joylessness of a life of nothing but 
work ? It was cruel to let me be so ignorant as 
to look forward to the kind of life that other 
girls have. Why, why, did no one tell me be- 
fore I grew to care so much ? It wouldn’t have 
been so hard then to give it all up. But I must 
work on now in this great, grinding machine of 
toil, which is my life, and grow accustomed to it. 
There is no time even to cry, except out of my 


INTO THE VALLEY 


355 


hours for sleep,” she added bitterly in the chilled 
numbness of a frozen heart. 

But Ursula’s apathy was perhaps as much the 
result of physical as of mental hurt. A lurking 
fever, on the lookout for frail forms and lowered 
vitality, had already clutched her by the throat ; 
and in a few hours’ time from the receipt of 
Merton’s letter the girl had to give up her work 
and go to bed. Mrs. Carter was filled with dis- 
tress and dismay, and when on the following day 
the doctor was summoned and pronounced the 
illness to be of the most infectious character, 
great consternation ran through the whole board- 
ing-house. 

“Let me go to a hospital,” pleaded Ursula, 
shrinking from the fear of giving trouble and 
causing expense. 

“I would rather not send you without your 
people’s consent,” said the doctor, and he looked 
compassionately at the poor lonely little suffer- 
ing girl, “ but I will telegraph at once and ascer- 
tain their wishes about you.” 

“ They are just starting abroad, if they have 
not already gone,” said Ursula ; “ but David 
Carpenter at the Winstow Grammar School will 
know their address. Telegraph to him and he 
will send it on.” 


356 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ It isn’t that I would not do everything for 
her,” and Mrs. Carter meant what she said ; for 
Ursula had grown very dear to the hard-work- 
ing little woman, whose life was so empty of 
interest and love. “But you see, doctor, it is 
the danger to the other boarders and the dam- 
age to the whole house.” 

“Yes, yes, of course, Mrs. Carter. But the 
long vacation is just beginning, and this girl’s 
parents might wish her to stay here. You would 
be fully recompensed, no doubt. She is going 
to be pretty bad, I am afraid, poor child ! ” 

“ It is very good of you, dear Mrs. Carter, to 
want to help me,” and Ursula met her with a 
smile as she reentered the room. “But don’t 
trouble yourself. There is no infection yet, and 
I am sure that the answer from my father and 
stepmother will be that I am to be taken to a 
hospital at once.” 

“ But supposing it does you harm,” sighed the 
matron with a characteristic want of tact ; “ they 
would never forgive themselves if anything hap- 
pened to you in consequence, I should think.” 

“ Oh, yes, they would ! ” and Ursula faintly 
smiled. “ Georgina has very strong views of her 
own about everything, and nothing that happens 
afterwards ever disconcerts her.” 


INTO THE VALLEY 


357 


“Well, I cannot bear the thought of your 
being sent off to a great, cheerless hospital all 
among strangers, my dear. I always have such 
a horror of hospitals myself. It should not be 
done if you were my child.” 

“ Perhaps it would not be done if I were her 
child, either,” replied Ursula quietly, “ but I am 
not, you know. That makes a great difference.” 

“ There always seems to me something so very 
dreary about dying in a hospital,” continued 
Mrs. Carter dolefully, “ with no chance of a nice 
deathbed scene with all your relations sent for, 
and everything comfortable and homelike. It 
is more like dying in prison, or as if some dis- 
grace were attached to it almost like hanging.” 

a But I may not die,” suggested Ursula with a 
glint of laughter in her eyes. 

“ Oh ! well, my dear, of course we must hope 
for the best,” and Mrs. Carter’s voice expressed 
but little confidence in such a hope. “ Only it 
so puts me in mind of the case of a niece of my 
late husband’s, who was removed into a hospital, 
when governess in a nobleman’s family, and died 
there. And never so much as one of her rela- 
tions was even allowed to see the corpse. We 
never knew for certain, but we had reason to 
believe, that she suffered terribly, poor thing, 


358 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


and was scolded accordingly. Those nurses in 
uniform are so terribly strict.” 

“ Are they ? ” 

“ There is something in their white cap strings 
that fairly puts me in a tremble,” continued the 
matron confidingly, “ and their aprons even have 
a stern aspect. To me it seems that it is just 
when people are ill that they want petting a 
little. But you won’t get that in hospital, my 
dear.” And Mrs. Carter stood looking at Ursula 
while big tears of sympathy rolled down her 
withered cheeks. 

“I don’t know what petting feels like,” and 
Ursula’s thickened voice quivered, “so I shan’t 
miss it. And — and don’t fret about me, dear 
Mrs. Carter. I do not mind going in the very 
least. I think all my minding power is used up,” 
she added half to herself, “and so nothing can 
ever matter again.” 

“ She will never get over it,” Mrs. Carter told 
the girls downstairs. “ She talks like one who 
is stricken for death. Poor girl ! How fond we 
have all been of her ! ” 

“ But perhaps she will get better ? ” suggested 
J osephine. 

“I feel so sorry for her having no holiday just 
when we are all starting off for ours,” said Susie. 


INTO THE VALLEY 


359 


“ I am going into the country for five weeks’ 
sketching, and I shall hate to think of poor Miss 
Grey ill in bed in London all the time.” 

“ Ah, but she may have passed away long be- 
fore then,” exclaimed Mrs. Carter. “ The danger 
develops very quickly in cases like hers, I know.” 

All during that long afternoon, Ursula strug- 
gled to fight against the fever which was wrap- 
ping her more firmly in its folds, and to forget 
none of the many instructions which it was 
necessary to give Mrs. Carter concerning her 
work, and all the other arrangements which her 
absence through a long illness would involve. 

“ Best your poor head for a few minutes, my 
dear, do,” begged the kind-hearted little woman, 
alarmed at the deepening flush on the girl’s face 
and the glitter in her eyes. 

“ But if I give way now I shall not be ready 
to be moved when the answer comes,” said 
Ursula bravely. “ And it would vex my father 
for there to be any hitch if Georgina has arranged 
it. Besides there are so many things that must 
be thought of before I go away.” 

“It is all right,” said the doctor coming at 
last into the room, with almost a look of relief 
on his kind face. “ I have received instructions 
for you to remain here, Miss Grey, and to have 


360 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


two nurses who will arrive directly. All . the 
other boarders are to leave, and you, Mrs. Carter, 
shall be no loser both during Miss Grey’s illness, 
and in the matter of the house’s being thoroughly 
put right afterwards.” 

Ursula looked puzzled for a moment ; and then 
the strain of keeping up snapped, and her eyes 
filled with tears. “ I wonder why they are so 
good to me ? ” she murmured. 

“ So there is nothing for you to worry about 
now,” said the doctor soothingly, his fingers on 
her bounding pulse. 

“How funny!” and Ursula smiled weakly. 
“ There has always been something for me to 
worry about, you know.” 

“ But you must not do so just now. Here is 
Nurse Morgan come to see after you. And we 
only want you to lie still. For we shall have to 
keep you a prisoner for a little while, you know.” 

Ursula looked up at the kindly face which the 
new nurse bent over her. A face full of com- 
passion for suffering and of tender readiness to 
help the sufferer. 

Not enough is said, perhaps not even enough 
is thought, of the great, self-sacrificing work 
which that brave band of women, called nurses, 
are so willing to take upon their shoulders. 


INTO THE VALLEY 


361 


Young women, to whom life should be full of 
sunshine, and whose minds turn naturally to 
pleasant thoughts, yet come of their own free 
will with helpful ministry into dark sick-rooms, 
and tarry awhile with those who are drawing 
nigh to the shadow of death. Mere girls, some 
of them, grown old with hard experience of 
others’ pain ; made tender with the cries of 
others’ need ; giving so readily their youth and 
playtime to cheer and comfort those who are 
sick. And afterwards, as women, dedicating 
their mother hearts of tenderness and sympathy 
to those who lie, helpless as little children, 
within their care. It may be that faults and 
failings sometimes mar the absolute perfectness 
of their work ; but who of us never falls short 
of the ideal which consecrates human effort ? 
And far above the chorus of gratitude, which so 
many are ready to swell in remembrance of the 
untiring kindness which our nurses have shown 
to us in days of sickness long gone by, there is 
the stamp and seal of the sacredness of their 
work in the great “Inasmuch” which makes 
their ministry an immortal one. 

“ I am come to take care of you,” the nurse 
said softly, laying a pitying hand on Ursula’s 
burning brow. 


362 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ I have never been taken care of in my life 
before that I can remember,” answered the girl 
simply. “ The idea of it seems quite strange.” 

“ Well, I am going to take care of you, now.” 

“ Thank you, nurse. How nice it sounds ! I 
am rather tired. I think I want to go to sleep.” 

But the sleep that Ursula wanted did not come 
to her just then. For days and nights the cruel 
pain gripped her throat and kept her weakly 
fighting for her breath. The nurse moved si- 
lently about the darkened room, and the doctor 
came often and not always alone. Sweet flow- 
ers, smelling of the country, were brought up 
fresh every morning, and big blocks of ice car- 
ried in to cool the scorched air, for summer was 
at the height of its heat just then. But Ursula 
noticed none of these things. For that sad, pa- 
thetic figure on the bed, with lips parched by 
fever and eyes glazed with pain, w T as not the 
real Ursula at all. By the wonderful mystery 
of revelation she learned that she herself was 
quite independent of that suffering body, and 
that the strong, glad life of the soul is untouched 
by sickness just as it is unhurt by death. All 
her old efforts after faith and religion melted 
into nothingness at the touch of God Himself, 
and her tired spirit was healed and rested as 


INTO THE VALLEY 


363 


with the sleep of a little child. That she was 
going to die she firmly believed, and the wonder 
was that death, — the fearful shadow which 
haunts so many souls — should seem, as she drew 
near to it, so simple and so sweet a thing. In 
the light which shone down into her whole being 
from the half-opened door of the beyond she saw 
things as they really are, and she glowed with a 
new happiness as the vision brought her the glad 
knowledge that all that is beautiful is immortal, 
and only the ugly and cruel experiences to be 
left behind. Down yonder with that body of 
pain lay all the little unkind nesses that used to 
hurt, — all that made life bitter, and earth sordid, 
and faith dim. She just lay still, hushed by the 
peace which is not of this world, and yet the best 
joy of it was that she felt perfectly at home in 
it, and knew that it was her native air. She for- 
got to say any prayers for she was listening to 
what God had to say to her ; and once when she 
heard the nurse’s voice reading a Psalm she 
smiled to herself, just as one might smile over 
reading a letter together with the writer when 
all separation has come to an end. She had al- 
ways thought so much for herself and carried 
such heavy burdens of responsibility ; now she 
saw how needless had been all that fret and toil. 


364 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


She stretched out her hands in the confiding 
helplessness of a little child, so that all fears and 
cares were stilled. There came to her, too, dur- 
ing those sweet, mysterious hours when time 
seemed as if it had ceased to beat, and all out- 
ward signs of it faded from her notice, the 
knowledge that the strangeness which men fear 
so much in death did not exist for her. That 
there was no strangeness either in herself or in 
that life which lies beyond earth’s limitations. 
That she, whether she lived or died, would still 
be the same Ursula, who would be glad and 
sorry in the old familiar ways ; who would 
laugh at humour and be touched by pathos just 
as she had always been accustomed to do. That 
the beauty of God’s garment in His creation of 
worlds would still flood her soul with an awe- 
some delight whether she saw it reflected in the 
sunset over the hills at home, or breaking into 
fresh fairness wherewith to make glad the City 
and Paradise of God. And she learned at last 
something of the meaning of love, and smiled 
with tender pity both for herself and Merton 
that they should have tried so hard to manufac- 
ture it for themselves out of the bits of material 
they had at hand. She for him, and he for 
Yiolet Mandeville. For the love which is God’s 


INTO THE VALLEY 


365 


touch upon the souls which He has made for 
love needs no patchwork of ours to make it per- 
fect — but stands, as all His gifts, in its own 
purity and depth and strength for time and for 
eternity. The memory of the ball looked to her 
cleared vision as the trouble of a broken joy in 
nursery days, and the riches she craved for then 
as the banked-up sweetmeats in the window of a 
village shop. 

To some souls the revelation of the Eternal 
Love comes through the fragments of it which 
fill most lives on earth, from the dawn of a 
mother’s tenderness to the full noonday of a 
heart’s romance. But as for others, and such 
was Ursula, their blind eyes are first opened to 
the vision of the Christ, and then they learn to 
look and see His touch in everything which 
makes life happy and hope bright. 

So Ursula drew very near to the Borderland, 
and her soul was eager to go across, that she 
might find her home in the blessed realisation of 
the nearness and goodness of God. But she had 
yet to learn that there is no going across neces- 
sary, seeing that He has already come to us ; 
bringing the new life, which must be born in us 
just as truly on this side the grave as the other, 
which instantly opens to all believers the king- 


366 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


dom of heaven. A cry of disappointment rose 
to her lips, for she was almost there, and it 
seemed hard to have to turn back; but God 
never misunderstands. It was with the dear old 
feeling of being put to bed as a tired child that 
He hushed her then to sleep ; and when she 
awoke it was morning and she was young and 
bright and happy again. 

“ Are you feeling a little better ? ” asked 
Nurse Morgan’s gentle voice. 

“ I am quite well, I think,” said Ursula with a 
smile, “ now the pain has gone.” 

“Well, hardly that, Miss Grey. But you are 
going to do well now. 5; 

“ I have been doing well all this long time,” 
murmured the girl dreamily. “ It almost seems 
dull just at first to be going to get better after all.” 

“Oh, no! You must not say that. You are 
wanted badly here.” 

For Nurse Morgan had seen the anguish on 
David Carpenter’s face when the news she 
brought down to him was bad, and, being a 
woman who knew the secret of love, she read the 
story of his. 

“ I think you are mistaken, nurse,” said Ursula 
wistfully, “ but of course God knows best, and I 
want more than everything else to do His will.” 


INTO THE VALLEY 367 

For Ursula did not know that David had 
come. 

“ What lovely flowers ! ” she exclaimed the 
next day as a fresh bunch of white roses was 
brought in. “ Does the doctor bring them ? ” 

“ No, Miss Grey.” 

“ Then where do they come from ? It seems a 
little extravagant of somebody.” 

“ Mr. Carpenter brings them every morning 
when he calls to ask after you first. And he 
told me to put a piece of this verbena every day 
on your pillow.” 

Ursula’s white face flushed. 

“ How good of him ! ” she said. “ This bit of 
verbena has made me feel as if I were in the 
garden at home, and forget all about London. 
Tell him how I have loved it. I think I have 
held it in my hand all the time.” 

“ Yes, you have. I told him, and he was so 
pleased.” 

“ But why is he here ? ” asked Ursula presently. 
“ I don’t understand.” 

“ He has been so anxious about you,” replied 
the nurse quietly. And then Ursula lay still for 
a long, silent time and thought about David 
Carpenter. 

The truth that it was under his direction that 


368 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


she should stay where she was instead of being 
taken to a hospital ; that doctors and nurses 
should see after her with no thought of economy, 
gradually stole into her heart. It was unlike her 
father and Georgina to be so anxious for her wel- 
fare, and so lavish wherever her comfort was 
concerned. She held the green, scented spray 
against her face, and inhaled its sweet breath 
with a new feeling of happiness. The message 
that it brought her of a summer in the country 
was good ; but its message of David’s thoughtful 
care of her was much better. She had realised 
through need and suffering how dear a thing it is 
to be taken care of ; and it appealed to her just 
then with special force that there was somebody 
who cared enough to want to take charge of her 
still. 

“ He was always kind and strong,” she thought 
to herself, “ and now I am weak and helpless it 
was so like him to come.” 

“ Nurse,” she asked a few days afterwards, “ has 
Mr. Carpenter been to ask after me every day ? ” 

“ Oh, yes.” And Nurse Morgan smiled. 
“ And more than once a day. Some days he has 
been here five or six times.” 

“ And did he say anything about me, except 
just what the doctor told him ? ” 


INTO THE VALLEY 


369 


“ Yes, Miss Grey. He used to ask me to tell 
him everything I could about you. How you 
seemed and looked ” 

“ What did you say ? ” interrupted Ursula. 

“ Well, I had to tell him the truth.” 

“ And what was that, nurse ? ” 

“For several days, that you seemed almost un- 
conscious of everything and every one about you, 
and you looked very different to your usual self.” 

“ How different ? ” and the girl sat up eagerly 
with a heightened colour. “ Tell me exactly.” 

“ Your friends would hardly have known you,” 
continued Nurse Morgan, “for your face was 
scorched with suffering and your eyes dulled of 
all intelligence. I never felt more sorry, I think, 
for any one before.” 

“ But, nurse,” exclaimed Ursula, “ I was not 
different, however I looked. I was just the same 
inside. And so I want you to take this message 
from me to all those who are distressed by 
changes in the looks of their dear ones who are 
ill, or even dying. Tell them from me, that the 
real person is not changed — it is only that the 
body through weakness fails in expression — but 
the self is as real and strong and individual as 
ever before, and feels and knows and loves in the 
old familiar way. I never was so much myself 


370 THE WOKLD AND WINSTOW 


in the highest and best and most natural 
sense, as I was during those days I looked so 
changed.” 

“ I will remember your message, Miss Grey. 
For I meet with so much anguish when loved 
voices are silent, and dear eyes unresponsive, and 
strong or tender hands lifeless and numb. And 
I never knew before how to comfort it.” 

“Well, you know now, nurse,” and Ursula’s 
face glowed. “ I am so glad to think that per- 
haps I shall be able to help somebody the better 
for what I have myself passed through.” 

“You would not have been afraid to die, 
then?” Nurse Morgan asked curiously, as she 
watched the girl’s sweet smile. “ Or felt op- 
pressed by your sins ? ” 

“Afraid! Oh, nurse, I wish I knew how to 
explain it better ! It was all so homelike that no 
one could be afraid. Of course I was sorry for 
all the wrong I have done, and all my stupidity 
and impatience and want of trust ; but when you 
are sorriest for grieving any one you want to be 
nearest to them. I have never known what re- 
ligion meant before, though I have heard so much 
talked about it.” 

“ And what does it mean, Miss Grey ? ” 

“ I think just belonging to God. I remember 


INTO THE VALLEY 


371 


a text somewhere which says, ‘I am Thine, O 
save me ! ’ I used to think it ought to be 6 Save 
me so that I may be Thine ’ ; but I understand 
the difference at last.” 

“You speak with great confidence of these 
things ? ” and a little, hungry sound crept into 
Nurse Morgan’s voice ; for she had looked so 
long at the weakness of the physical that her 
eyes had grown dim to see the strength of the 
spiritual through. 

“ Only because I have seen them for myself,” 
replied Ursula simply. “ I never cannot know 
about them again.” 

The days rolled on filled with the trifling and 
yet important incidents which make the world of 
a sick-room so engrossing; and a tiny thread of 
strength crept back into Ursula’s weak limbs. 
When she was able to go into an adjoining room 
Nurse Morgan brought word that David Car- 
penter would like to see her. 

“ Oh, yes ! I want to see and thank him,” ex- 
claimed the girl eagerly. But the thanks trem- 
bled on her lips when the man, about whom she 
had been thinking so much, actually came into 
her presence ; and she could only lift her tear- 
filled eyes to his, and stretch out her little, thin 
hand in silence. 


372 THE WORLD AKD WINSTOW 


“ There, there, my child ! ” he said gently, sit- 
ting down beside her. “ I know all you want to 
say and can’t. We will count it as said.” 

“ It makes me cry to thank you,” began Ursula 
brokenly. 

“ Then you must not thank me,” and he smiled. 
“ I understand all about it, and how weak you 
are.” 

“ It is silly of me, I know.” 

“ It isn’t — dear.” And Ursula felt no strange- 
ness in the fact that David should call her 
“ dear.” 

“ Sick people are like children, somehow,” she 
said thoughtfully. “I feel such a very little 
thing.” 

David looked at her with a great tenderness in 
his eyes. “Your face is like a little child’s. It 
reminds me of the Ursula who used to come to 
school. And the lessons were so hard, weren’t 
they ? ” 

“My lessons have always been hard. But I 
am going to begin all over again now and do 
them better.” 

“ Poor child ! ” 

“I like you to say that. It comforts me.” 
And the girl’s face was full of pathos. 

“ I want to comfort you, and help you to grow 


INTO THE VALLEY 373 

strong again, and — and make the lessons easy for 
you.” 

“ As you used to. Whenever I brought the 
wrong things to you, you always put them right, 
you know.” 

“Did I? But,” and David smiled a trifle 
sadly, “ you did not often bring them.” 

“ I have always wanted to do things myself,” 
exclaimed the girl eagerly, “ because I thought I 
ought to. But now I am little again and can do 
nothing, it is good to know you will help me. 
You did not want to when I could fight my own 
battles, did you ? ” 

“ You did not need me then,” replied David 
simply, who had never really wanted to do any- 
thing else. 

“ Perhaps not,” and Ursula’s voice grew dreamy, 
“ but I see my mistake now. I have failed all 
along the line. And oh ! I have tried so hard to 
be well and strong and successful and clever ! ” 

“ Then I am glad you failed,” and David spoke 
under his breath. 

“ Glad ! ” echoed Ursula with a touch of re- 
proach in her tone, “glad, when it hurt so 
much ? ” 

David took her hand in his. 

“Not glad in that way, dear — but — but — 


374 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


don’t think me a brute — glad that you want my 
help.” 

Ursula looked up with a smile. 

“You are splendidly big and strong,” she 
whispered. 

“ And you are such a poor, little wounded thing,” 
as a great tenderness leapt into his eyes. “I 
wish I could give you my strength.” 

“You do, I think. For I am content now to 
take as a gift what I once only wanted to possess 
as a right. I have struggled for so long to be 
strong myself, but I am beginning to see now 
how weakness after all is better for me.” 

“ But you are getting well all right now, aren’t 
you ? ” he asked with a sudden clutch of anxiety 
at his heart. 

“ Oh, yes ! And as quickly as possible.” Then 
after a long silence she exclaimed : 

“Don’t you know that I am infectious, and 
that you are holding my hand ? ” 

“ Yes, I know ! ” and he laughed. “ I am not 
afraid of infection.” 

“ But the boys ! And the holidays will soon 
be over ? ” 

“ I am not going back to the Grammar School 
this term.” 


“ Why not ? ” 


INTO THE Y ALLEY 375 

“ Oh, for several reasons. Here comes Nurse 
Morgan to say I must not overtire you.” 

“ I am not a bit tired,” Ursula protested after 
the way of invalids, but of course she was. 

From that time, David Carpenter came in to 
sit with her every day ; and she began to look 
forward to his visits, and think beforehand about 
what she should talk to him, and go over their 
conversations together afterwards. And Nurse 
Morgan smiled to herself at the simple romance 
which was unfolding itself in the little world of 
this sick-room. Still a world that is large enough 
for a man and a woman and their love is, after 
all, the widest world we know of, for its bound- 
aries lie beyond all time, and its horizon line is 
that of eternity. 

“ It is so good of you to come and see me every 
afternoon,” said Ursula, “and waste all your 
holiday in this stuffy room.” 

David shook his head. Speech never came 
readily to his lips. 

“ Why didn’t you write to me ? ” she asked 
presently, “ so many people did.” 

“ I — I didn’t know how to.” 

“It was so interesting,” continued the girl, 
“ seeing the kind of letters which were sent to 
me. It was such an index of the writers’ different 


376 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


characters. Because they knew I had nearly 
died, and so they wrote what they felt would be 
suitable under the circumstances.” 

“I see.” 

“ And so many of them seemed to think 
that I should be somehow unnatural, and I 
know what an effort it was to them to write 
at all.” 

“What sharp eyes you have,” and David 
smiled. 

“ Don’t think that I am criticising what any 
one was good enough to give me. I am grateful 
for every one. But you can’t help thinking 
about things when you are lying ill, and it 
was like a peep into their inner selves.” 

“ I wish I had written,” said David, “ only I 
did not know what to say.” 

Ursula laughed. “ But you know what to say 
to me now, and writing should be just the same 
as talking.” 

u I generally feel such an ass when I try to 
say what I really feel.” 

“ Not with me ? ” she pleaded. 

“Well, perhaps not with you, because — be^ 
cause ” 

“ Because what ? I want to know.” 

“Because,” he said slowly, “because I am 


INTO THE YALLEY 


377 


thinking so much about you, and what I can 
say to help and comfort you, that I forget 
about myself altogether.” 

Tears sprang up into the girl’s eyes, but she 
smiled through them. 

“ Some people made frantic efforts to cheer me 
up,” she continued, reverting to their former 
subject to relieve the tension, “ and told me 
bits of news and actually wrote out funny tales 
and riddles ; and some introduced little homilies 
on the necessity of resignation ; and others 
forgot about me altogether after the first few 
lines and had much to tell of their own concerns 
and interests.” 

“ Whose letters did you like the best ? ” David 
asked. 

“ My dear Mrs. Lyall’s. She wrote exactly as 
she talks, and the fact that I was ill and might 
have died made no difference to her, or to me, 
in our true selves, or any of the truths about us. 
It was not strange country to her where I had 
been tarrying, but just the entrance to her 
home, you know.” 

“ Don’t talk about it,” and there was a sharp 
pain in David’s voice. 

‘‘Why should you mind? I have so much 
to learn from it all.” 


378 THE WORLD AND W1NSTOW 


“But, dear, you have to learn now how to 
live, not how to die.” 

“ I think they are the same thing,” said Ursula 
simply. 

“It was so wonderful being ill,” she continued 
after a long restful silence. “ I want to tell you. 
Things can never be the same to me again.” 

“ How, dear ? ” 

“ When we walk to the top of a hill we see 
much wider views, you know, than at its foot. 
And it seems to be that big experiences are the 
hills of life, and the world is different when we 
have once looked away into its distances. I 
used to mind about things so dreadfully, but 
since I have been up there I know how small 
they really are.” 

“ What did you mind about ? ” asked David 
pityingly. 

“ About being so delicate and not able to do 
things. And still more about being crowded 
out of other people’s lives, as I have out of my 
father’s, you know, and — and out of my old 
friend Merton Wain wright’s.” 

David’s brow darkened ; but his clasp of Ursula’s 
hand grew stronger and he drew a little closer. 

“But I don’t mind about those things now. 
I made a mistake in trying to carry my burdens 


INTO THE VALLEY 


379 


all by myself, and in thinking that I had to bear 
the responsibility of what God Himself had 
done. I knew, when I was ill, that being weak 
and helpless only brought help nearer, and so 
it was a good thing after all. And I found, 
too,” Ursula went on with a strange, exalted 
look, “ that what I used to think was love, is 
not really love at all. For love does not fail us 
when we cease to be able to earn it.” 

“Tell me, dear,” and David’s voice thrilled, 
“ don’t you mind about Merton now ? ” 

“Not in the way you imagine. It was hard 
at first to feel he had gone out of my life for I 
was very fond of him. At one time I think we 
loved each other in a crude, elementary way, 
and for his sake I hated my lot and my pov- 
erty and my work, and perhaps my God, too. 
But that all seems so long ago, when I was the 
other Ursula,” and she smiled slightly. 

“ Then you do not love him now ? ” breath- 
lessly. 

“No. The feeling we had for each other 
failed because it was of our own making, and 
therefore very poorly made. So thin and cheap 
that it could be bought and sold for the price of 
a new frock. Love, as God gives it, is not of 
such stuff as»that, nor given so grudgingly.” 


380 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


“ I was afraid you would fret so, dear.” 

“ Merton used to care for me,” she continued 
slowly, “ but I know now that it was a funny 
kind of caring. A sort of examination certificate 
for passing in looks and manners and clothes. 
I have always been trying to pass that exami- 
nation since I was quite little ; but it was a com- 
petitive one, and a prettier, better dressed girl 
could easily gain higher marks. Love is no 
certificate of merit, but a free charter of happi- 
ness signed and sealed in heaven.” 

“I thought it w r ould make you so unhappy 
during your illness, all alone, poor child ! That 
you should be ill just then seemed the worst 
thing that could have happened to you.” 

“ But it was really the best,” and a glad con- 
fidence lighted her eyes. “ It was God’s way of 
healing the wound, and He does things so differ- 
ently from us. Only,” and here Ursula’s lips 
quivered and her eyes overflowed with tears, “ it 
is a bit hard to come back again to the old 
things. Is it wrong of me,” and she looked up 
pleadingly, “ to wish I had died, since nobody is 
left to want me much ? ” 

“ Oh, my darling ! ” and David’s whisper was 
still a cry, “I am left, and I want you. Stay 
with me, Ursula, and love me a little if you can.” 


INTO THE VALLEY 


381 


The girl started. Whither she had drifted she 
could hardly trace. It had all seemed part of 
the new, restful experience of illness, and she 
was too weak to think things out. 

“I love you, and have always loved you,” 
David’s voice was saying. “ I don’t know when 
it began, I only know that it can never end. I 
cannot speak when I feel things most, but you 
know — you must know — what you really are to 
me ! ” 

“I don’t think I quite understand,” and Ur- 
sula’s face was very white. “ You have been so 
good to me I could never be grateful enough — 
but this other thought is so new.” 

“ And is it strange to you, my child ? Strange 
that I should love you so ? Good heavens ! 
How blind you have been ! ” 

“No, it is not strange,” said Ursula softly, “it 
is new, and it is wonderful, but,” and she leaned 
her tired head against his shoulder, “ it is home 
all the same.” 

“ And will you really belong to me ? ” mur- 
mured David, almost crushing her slender frame 
in his strong arms. 

“ Belong to } r ou,” repeated the girl, “ how good 
it sounds ! ” 

“You are so little and weak, dear heart, but 


382 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


you shall never have another burden to carry 
that I can lift.” 

“ Y es, I am weak. So weak and helpless and 
needy that I am not worth such a large measure 
of love.” 

“Listen, my darling. It is all these things 
that hold you so dear to me.” 

“ But they are just the things that I have always 
been ashamed of and wanting so badly to cure.” 

“ Then, thank God you failed.” 

“ I never thought that I should thank Him for 
my failures,” said Ursula, with a fleeting smile. 
“ But if they have won me your love I see what 
friends they were.” 

“ There was no question of winning my love,” 
replied David thoughtfully, “for you have al- 
ways had it and I could not help giving it you, 
dear. That was all.” 

“ I went to a ball to try and find happiness,” 
said Ursula after a while, “and it was wrapped 
up for me in a fever instead. How stupid we 
are when we want to manage our lives for our- 
selves ! I never shall again.” 

“ What a wise little girl you are ! ” and David 
smiled. 

“ I am not. I have only just seen what an ig- 
norant little girl I am.” 


INTO THE YALLEY 


383 


“But isn’t that where wisdom begins, dear? 
And it seems to me that you have learned a great 
deal during these last few weeks.” 

“ I ought to,” said Ursula earnestly. “ For to 
look death in the face is to meet with a great 
teacher.” 

David held her very close. 

“ How nearly I lost you ! ” he ^whispered. 

“ But you never would quite if you loved me 
like this,” and Ursula shook her head. 

“ How do you mean ? ” 

“ Real love is never lost or wasted, and death 
cannot destroy it, only delays it for a while. 
You could not have told me of your love quite so 
soon — that was all.” 

“ Little Ursula,” began David with a strange 
thrill in his voice, “ do you think you can ever 
love me at all, too ? I did not mean to ask you 
so soon — but — but — I cannot help it, dear.” 

And Ursula in answer held up her sweet child- 
face, and the man, looking into the depths of her 
truthful eyes, was satisfied. 


CHAPTER XIII 


KEREIESORT LODGE 

While Ursula was learning her lessons in the 
mystic school of sickness and suffering, Merton 
Wain wright was learning his in the playground 
of Kerriesort Lodge. And there are almost as 
many lessons to be learnt in playgrounds 
as in schools. He had travelled up with the 
Mandeville party to their Lodge at the edge 
of a huge deer forest which extended over a 
vast portion of one of the large islands lying at 
the far northwest of the mainland. The saloon 
carriages, the special train from Iverness, the 
yacht which met them all appealed to Merton in 
a way which even he would have been ashamed 
to confess ; but his love for Yiolet was distinctly 
affected and increased by the royal luxury of her 
entourage ; and to feel that he was about to be- 
come a member of such a family gave his head 
the final turn towards which it had long been 
inclining. 

Lord and Lady Middlesex, with their son and 
daughter, were the principal members of the 

house party, which otherwise consisted of Lilia 
384 


KEKRIESOKT LODGE 


385 


Langbridge and a miscellaneous assortment of 
men who were more or less good shots, and 
among whom Merton recognised Major Trayne 
and old Admiral Kingston ; though the most 
important of them in the eyes of everybody 
seemed to be a certain Captain Evelix, who had 
been wounded in the war, decorated with the 
Victoria Cross, and now was convalescing under 
the most favourable conditions possible. A 
splendid-looking young man — standing six-feet- 
two in his socks, with golden-brown hair, a ruddy 
sunburnt face, and eyes so big and blue that they 
ought to have belonged to a professional beauty 
instead of being thrown away on a soldier. 
Not that many girls whom Ian Evelix knew con- 
sidered them thrown away ; but still he himself 
was perfectly indifferent to them, which the pro- 
fessional beauty would not have been ; and he 
was quite handsome enough in the lithe grace of 
his figure and the proud poise of his head with- 
out wanting a pair of girl’s eyes to make his at- 
tractions more manifold. He wore the kilt of 
the Evelix tartan, for his father was head of an 
ancient clan, and Castle Evelix was one of the 
oldest of the Highland homes still inhabited. 
Merton felt almost small and quite insignificant 
as he stood beside him. 


386 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“Won’t you be able to shoot at all?” asked 
little Pat Mandeville, laying a small, dirty hand 
pityingly on the captain’s sling, and with adoring 
admiration in his eyes. 

“ Not this year, I am afraid, old man,” and Ian 
Evelix looked down on him much as a race horse 
would regard a stable kitten. 

“Jolly rough on you! ’’piped the child. “I 
say, if you walk on the hill, will you let me come 
too ? ” 

“ Rather. You can do lots of things for me 
which my lame arm can’t.” So Pat’s cup of 
bliss was full, and he hung about the wounded 
giant with a devotion and hero-worship which 
Victoria Crosses are apt to kindle in the hearts of 
small schoolboys, and many of their elders 
too. 

The life in Scotland was a complete change to 
anything Merton had ever experienced, and one 
in which he felt a little strange. Everything in 
London seemed suddenly to have been forgotten, 
and even Mr. Mandeville himself talked as if the 
catching of fish, and the shooting of birds, and 
the slaying of beasts were the only really im- 
portant things to be done in the world. The 
dignified statesman seemed to have laid aside his 
statesmanship with his frock coat, and to have 


KERRIESORT LODGE 


387 


developed another self, clothed in a tweed jacket 
and knickerbockers. The girls were most enthu- 
siastic in all kinds of sport, and even Lady Mid- 
dlesex tied on a large mushroom hat, took a 
permanent place in the steam launch, and untir- 
ingly fished in the loch which ran up close to the 
garden gate of Kerriesort. 

“What are you going to do to-day?” Yiolet 
asked Merton on one of the first mornings there. 
“ You never came out to bathe. How lazy of 
you ! ” 

“I did not know you were going to, or 
when ? ” 

“ Bathing parade is at eight, sharp,” announced 
young Lord Pangbourne, “ and no shirking 
allowed.” 

“ I will come to-morrow,” lisped Miss Lang- 
bridge, “ if you boys will promise not to push me 
in off the landing stage.” 

“ The promises they make in their clothes are 
laid aside therewith,” remarked Victoria. “ So 
you must not consider them binding.” 

“What will you do ?” repeated Violet. 

“ Come with you,” replied Merton. 

“ I am going on the hill with father and Cap- 
tain Evelix.” 

“ And me, too,” chimed in Pat. 


388 THE WOKLD AND WINSTOW 


“ I should love to walk with you,” said Mer- 
ton, with a sentimental glance. 

“ All right,” replied his lady-love practically, 
“ only wouldn’t you rather go salmon fishing, 
or to the otter hunting? I believe there is a 
grouse-shooting party, too.” 

“ Oh, no ! As if I could ever want to do any- 
thing more than come with you ! ” 

“ I know you wouldn’t in one way,” agreed 
Yiolet, with a smile, “only of course sport 
doesn’t count. A man always wants to kill 
things, and in Scotland, in August ! Why he 
would be ill if he didn’t.” 

“ I wish you were going into the forest instead 
of on to the hill,” said Merton, with visions of 
green glades. 

Yiolet raised her eyebrows. 

“ What do you mean ? ” she exclaimed. 
“ There’s no difference.” 

“ It would be so lovely to sit with you in the 
shade on a hot day like this,” he continued ten- 
derly. 

“ But it is a deer forest,” gasped Yiolet. 

Merton looked puzzled. “ Is it too far away ? ” 
he asked. 

“ It is here. We are on the edge of it.” 

“ But where are the trees ? ” 


KERRIESORT LODGE 


389 


“ There aren’t any,” Yiolet was beginning 
helplessly to explain, when Victoria called her. 

“ Violet,” whispered her sister, “ what is Lilia 
going to do ? ” 

“ I think she and Admiral Kingston might go 
trout fishing. They won’t catch anything be- 
cause the admiral will never stop talking, and 
Lilia can’t throw a fly, but it will keep them 
busy and happy ail day.” 

“ What a good idea ! I don’t think Admiral 
Kingston has ever told her about his trip to 
Egypt. I will start him on that before they go.” 

“ But he won’t get through it in one day, Vic. 
It takes about forty-eight hours with no inter- 
vals for rest or refreshment, if I remember 
rightly.” 

“ Yes, I know. But he may take her out 
again to-morrow to finish, don’t you see ? Other- 
wise I am afraid he would not. People never 
want two days running with Lilia.” 

“Victoria, dear,” exclaimed Miss Langbridge, 
“do tell me what to wear here? How do you 
generally dress ? ” 

“ Like shabby boys in the morning, and smart 
girls in the evening ; it is quite easy and simple.” 

So the various parties went off to wage the 
untiring warfare which has alwa}^s existed be- 


390 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


tween man and beast, especially in the masculine 
English mind ; and it was quite in the evening 
before they were gathered together again. Some 
from the hill, and some from the sea, some from 
the still, brown lochs that lie among the moun- 
tains, and others from the small islands where 
the otters are to be found. A healthy, hungry, 
sunburnt party, all full of the success or failure 
which had met with their efforts of destruction 
by land or water. 

“ Oh, Victoria ! ” exclaimed Yiolet, rushing 
into her sister’s room when the maid had fin- 
ished the arrangement of her golden hair and 
fastened her into a dazzling frock. “ Such an 
awful thing has happened ! ” 

Victoria was all ears immediately. 

“You know Merton came on the hill with 
father and Captain Evelix and me and — do pre- 
pare for a shock, Vic — he wore cuffs ! I thought 
I should have expired when I saw them.” 

“Cuffs!” exclaimed her sister. “What kind 
of cuffs?” 

“ The worst kind,” groaned Violet, “ the ones 
with a limp waist in the middle, which are re- 
versible and wrap over with a solitaire ! What 
shall I do?” 

“But what possessed him, Vic?” 


KERRIESOKT LODGE 


391 


“ The devil, I should think ! He had a flannel 
shirt on, and he was afraid to face the flannel 
wristbands I suppose. It is all very well for 
you to laugh, Yic, but you are not engaged to 
him.” 

“ I am not laughing,” replied Victoria menda- 
ciously. “I sympathise with you from the 
depths of my soul. But can’t you tell him not 
to, Violet ? ” 

“Oh! I can tell him. But think of the re- 
sponsibility of being married to a man who 
knows no better than that. Of course in Lon- 
don he always wore a white shirt, so he was not 
exposed to temptation.” 

“ But you are not married to him yet,” sug- 
gested Victoria soothingly. 

Violet breathed a sigh of relief, and cheered 
up materially. “ Of course I am not, I had for- 
gotten that. Isn’t Captain Evelix good-look- 
ing?” 

“ Did you get a stag after all, Vi ? ” 

“Yes. Father missed his first shot, and 
then Merton spoke and spoiled the next one. 
I was awfully vexed at the time about that, too. 
Even Pat knew better than to breathe. But we 
stalked this one till nearly five and it is a splen- 
did beast.” 


392 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ I am so glad. I do like father to enjoy him- 
self, and this is his first day on the hill.” 

The party which assembled every night for 
dinner at Kerriesort looked as if a fairy had 
transformed it with her beauty-bestowing wand 
since it met in the morning at breakfast. The 
sheeny satins of the girls, the flashing jewels of 
the dowagers ; Ian Evelix’s picturesque tartan, 
and even little Pat resplendent in a spotless 
collar and tiny white waistcoat — all helped to 
fill the long, low drawing-room with a most 
effective crowd. 

“ What ! a little bit of a chap like you sitting 
up to dinner ! ” exclaimed his father one even- 
ing, passing a caressing hand over the small, 
neatly-brushed, yellow head, “why aren’t you 
with your sisters in the schoolroom, eh ? ” 

“ Pat is to dine downstairs as a great treat,” 
explained Lady Clementina, “ because he has fired 
his first shot to-day.” 

“ And one good treat deserves another,” sug- 
gested Victoria. 

“ He is quite a big schoolboy, isn’t he, Pang- 
bourne ? Do you get them this size at Eton ? ” 

“Rather not, Uncle Richard. I never saw 
such a microbe of a chap in my life ; not even at 
my preparatoryV’ 


KEERIESORT LODGE 


393 


“ I’m not all that little,” exclaimed Pat indig- 
nantly, “ not even the littlest at school. There’s 
one fellow lots littler.” 

“I wonder you can see him with the naked 
eye, then,” remarked his cousin. 

“ He’s an awful little muff, too,” continued the 
boy patronisingly, “ wanted to know why the 
fellows were divided into Julias and Caesars, and 
what made him a Julia? ” 

Mr. Mandeville and his nephew laughed. 

“ And said he thought the big boys at school 
were always called the thermometers.” 

“ What did you say to him, my son ? ” 

“ I smacked his head,” replied Pat simply. 

“ What a very nice face Captain Evelix has,” 
remarked Lady Middlesex to her sister-in-law, as 
they sat over their work in the drawing-room 
after dinner. “I am sure he has an earnest 
disposition.” 

“ He has a splendid figure,” replied Lady Clem- 
entina, “but what a pity it is he has been 
wounded so early in the war, and so is losing 
the chief part of it.” 

“I think wounds often have a very sobering 
effect upon young men,” continued Lady Mid- 
dlesex. “I wonder whether he would join our 
guild ? I must ask him. And that reminds me. 


394 THE WOELD AND WINSTOW 


Clementina, I wish you would join that sweet 
guild of Mrs. Craven’s for not speaking evil of 
any one.” 

“ Oh, my dear ! I couldn’t. At least not as 
long as Charles remains in my service. He is so 
unspeakably aggravating.” 

“ But I do not think servants count,” replied 
Lady Middlesex. “ They really are too trying ! ” 

“ Violet has gone out with Ian Evelix to see 
the moon,” exclaimed Lady Clementina. “ That 
looks as if they rather admired each other.” 

“ But I thought she was engaged to Mr. Wain- 
wright.” 

“ So she is, Annabel. But that was settled 
before Ian came home.” 

“ I always wonder you gave your consent.” 

“My dear, with three headstrong daughters 
out and two more growing up, you had always 
better give your consent. It would make no 
difference if you didn’t, except increase their un- 
desirable affections.” 

“My Madeline is so wonderfully obedient,” 
murmured her mother. 

“ Your Madeline isn’t in love yet ! ” and Lady 
Clementina nodded her head wisely. 

“Do you think that Violet will break it off 
with young Wainwright ? ” asked Lady Middlesex. 


KERRIESOKT LODGE 


395 


“ Seeing that her father and I have offered 
no opposition to the engagement, and moreover 
have invited him here for as long as she likes, I 
should not be surprised if she did.” 

“ It would greatly upset me if Madeline jilted 
any one,” and her mother sighed. 

“Nonsense, my dear. If you had five daugh- 
ters instead of one, you would be so thankful 
when they were all well and happy that you 
wouldn’t bother your head about their play- 
things.” 

“ Madeline is very thoughtful for her years,” 
continued Lady Middlesex. “ She was quite my 
right hand at my policeman’s tea the week be- 
fore we left town.” 

Lady Clementina nodded absently, but her eyes 
were roving through the unshuttered wfindow — 
not to the matchless beauty of the silver loch 
lying between the bare, black hills, all touched 
with the mystic silence of moonlight; but the 
two young people wandering along the mountain 
path, where the frosted sheen of Violet’s white 
satin dress showed clear and distinct against the 
tall, dark figure beside her. 

“ Ian is the only son of Lord Evelix,” Lady 
Clementina murmured with apparent irreverence. 

“Those semi-social, semi-religious gatherings 


396 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


have a wonderful influence for good,” her sister- 
in-law was saying, “ and Madeline looked so 
sweet and maidenly handing bread-and-butter. 
I spoke a few words to them myself afterwards.” 

“ I can’t imagine how you can think of any- 
thing to say, Annabel. I never should be able 
to. Besides, I know I should laugh and spoil 
everything even if I could.” 

“ Dear policemen have such dangerous lives all 
among dreadful criminals and people of that 
kind ; and then being out all night on duty must 
be so chilly and tiring. I told them that if at 
any time they should be dying and would send 
me a postcard I would come to them at once.” 

“How good and unselfish of you, my dear 
Annabel ! ” 

“I feel it my duty,” and Lady Middlesex 
glanced affectionately at the woolen gloves she 
was knitting for those policemen who should not 
happen to be dying. 

“We have had a roughish day on the hill,” 
said Major Trayne as some of the party drifted 
in from the billiard room. “ Quite a sharp squall 
about one o’clock and a heavy thunder-shower. 
It was pretty cold, too.” 

“ If we must have thunder and lightning, I pre- 
fer it served hot,” remarked Victoria, “ like soup 


KEKRIESORT LODGE 


397 


and sausages. There seems no sense in having 
it cold as we did to-day.” 

“Did you go to see the salmon-netting after 
all ? ” he asked her. 

“Yes. We got sixty-five. Pangbourne went 
with us, and Sir Simon Fortescue.” 

“ Sir Simon is a swell doctor, isn’t he ? ” 

“Warranted to cure royal ailments,” explained 
Victoria. “ He told me that children ought to 
sleep with their heads lower than their feet to 
increase their brain power. I am so thankful 
mother did not adopt that plan with us, because 
what would have happened to me if my brain 
power had been increased ? I tremble to think 
of it.” 

“It would have been serious — very serious,” 
he replied gravely. 

“ If not fatal ! To my friends, I mean.” 

“Admiral Kingston tells a great many very 
prosy stories,” continued Major Trayne. 

“ Anecdotalism is his besetting sin,” and 
Victoria shook her head. 

“ Some one ought to cure him of it. I think, 
don’t you, Miss Mandeville, that people ought to 
be told of their faults ? ” 

“Yes, I do. And I have invented a new pro- 
fession in connection with it. There would be a 


398 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


kind of moral inspector appointed to each district 
and he would have to tell you of a fault v T hen nine 
people outside your own family had noticed it.” 

“ He would not be a popular individual.” 

“ The appointment would be one of five years’ 
duration like a governorship. Because, you see, 
he would not have a friend left by the end of 
that time.” 

“ I don’t think there would be much competi- 
tion for it.” 

“ My dear Major Trayne — younger sons can’t 
be choosers. And lots of people don’t mind be- 
coming popular even without a large salary.” 

“Here comes your sister and young Evelix. 
By the way, Merton Wainwright doesn’t look as 
if he were enjoying himself much to-night.” 

“ I think it would be heavenly to wear a kilt,” 
Violet was saying. 

“More airy than heavenly I should say, my 
dear young lady,” exclaimed Admiral Kingston 
with a burst of delighted laughter at his own 
wit. “ Ha ! Ha ! ” 

“ Come and talk to me, Violet,” whispered 
Merton. “ I have not seen you for a moment all 
day.” 

“ Did you get many fish ? ” she asked as she 
sat down beside him on the window-seat. 


KEKKIESORT LODGE 


399 


“ Oh, bother the fish ! Don’t let us talk about 
them.” 

Violet sighed. Think of a man spending the 
whole day on Loch Kerriesort and not wanting 
to talk about the fish ! 

“ I wish you would kill something,” she said 
plaintively. “ I don’t much mind what — only you 
see, Merton, you have been here a whole fort- 
night and not killed a single thing.” 

“ I am afraid I don’t know how to,” he replied 
gloomily. “I never learned to shoot, I can’t 
throw a fly, so what is a fellow to do ? ” 

“You might take a little line and go with 
Aunt Annabel. That would be better than 
nothing.” But her voice was a little de- 
pressed. 

“ All right. Only, I say, Violet, do be kind to 
me now.” 

“I am always kind to you,” she protested 
hastily, because she felt that really she was not. 
“ How can you say such stupid things ? ” 

“ Then, talk to me, dear.” 

“ It is that you won’t talk,” argued his lady- 
love, a trifle impatiently for her. “You never 
join in with the other men, and to-night at din- 
ner you hardly spoke.” 

“I haven’t much to say about sport,” he re- 


400 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


plied shortly.. “And they never mention any- 
thing else here.” 

“ Oh, yes, they do ! They talked about the 
war and Captain Evelix told us those splendid 
stories. I wish he would tell us more about him- 
self and his adventures, don’t you ? ” 

“ No, I can’t say that I do.” 

“ Don’t you like Captain Evelix, then, Merton ? 
Why, every bod}^ does. He’s got the Victoria 
Cross, you know. And being wounded makes 
him so awfully interesting.” 

“A cheap enough way of winning interest,” 
grumbled Merton, “ to get a bullet in your arm. 
He said it was only a scratch.” 

“ Only a scratch ! ” and Violet’s face flushed. 
“Do you suppose they invalid men home for 
scratches? Why, they were afraid he would 
lose his arm altogether. And to have to keep it 
in a sling all during the shooting time is simply 
too hard on any man.” 

“ Not if it makes you sorry for him,” and 
Merton’s face was pale with jealousy. 

“ I don’t thing you are a bit nice this evening,” 
and Violet rose from her seat. “ You are so 
cross and horrid.” 

“I’m not. Oh, don’t go, Violet!” pleaded 
Merton. “ I never see anything of you now.” 


KEERIESORT LODGE 


401 


“Don’t be ridiculous. And besides, Merton, 
you must talk to the others, too. It is awful to 
sit silent through a whole meal.” 

“ If I can’t talk to you I won’t to any one,” 
and he spoke impatiently. 

“ But they will think you so dull,” said Yiolet, 
who would as soon have been thought dishonest 
as dull. 

“ I don’t care what anybody thinks of me — ex- 
cept you.” 

Yiolet sighed. Merton was really becoming 
rather difficult to manage. He had always been 
so sure of himself before, and the confidence had 
kept him pleasant. But now he was conscious 
of a sense of failing in this new world of sport, 
and because it seemed to him to matter so little, 
and to be such a very unimportant world in 
itself, the feeling of failure chafed him infinitely 
more, and made him cross and cantankerous. 

“ I do wish you would be nice and sensible,” 
she remarked sadly. “ It would make everything 
so much easier.” 

“ It doesn’t matter what a fellow can do in the 
way of scholarship or work,” he grumbled on — 
“ if he can’t shoot well you girls think nothing 
of him.” 

“ Oh, Merton ! How can you be so unjust. 


402 THE WOELD AND WINSTOW 


I think a lot of — of— of father, you know, and 
he misses his shot quite as often as not.” 

“ And I don’t believe you really care for me 
one bit,” continued the young man in an ag- 
grieved voice. But he did believe it all the 
same, and only wanted the reiteration of it 
from Violet’s sweet lips, just as a spoilt child 
cries for the sugar it knows a cry will make sure 
of. Perhaps Violet was a little shaken in that 
belief of late, and so she answered very gently, 

“ Don’t let us quarrel, Merton. And you will 
see a great deal of me to-morrow.” She added 
with a smile, “ For we are to spend the whole 
day on Sir Charles Fairbairn’s yacht, and go for 
a trip to the North Pole or somewhere equally 
delightful. He is anchoring for a few days in 
Loch Kerriesort, you know.” 

So Merton was smoothed over, and started in 
high spirits on the following morning with the 
rest of the party who were going yachting. A 
fresh northwest wind ruffled the sea and flecked 
it with foaming waves far out to the deep indigo 
horizon line ; and as long as they skirted the 
coast, with its wonderful panorama of brown 
hills and blue mountains and grey rocks, the 
boat behaved herself very nicely, and went danc- 
ing through the clear, green water as a buoyant 


KEBBIESOBT LODGE 


403 


bird on its homeward way. But by and by, as 
they turned her head out seawards, she began to 
leap over the larger waves that rose against her, 
and some of those on board, of which Merton 
was one, wished themselves on dry land again. 
For some time he and Yiolet had sat together a 
little apart from the others, and she had been so 
sweet and nice that all his recent vexations were 
forgotten ; he had listened to her merry prattle 
just as he used to do in London, and felt the 
proud, glad sense of possession as he admired 
every detail of her blue serge costume, so per- 
fectly suited to the occasion, and watched with 
love-filled eyes the soft little rings of gold which 
the wind fetched from under her sailor hat, and 
the tiny freckles which the sun dared to imprint 
across the bridge of her small nose. 

“ I say you look jolly green ! ” exclaimed Pat, 
delightedly, whose restless eyes and legs and 
tongue were never still for a moment. “ Begin- 
ning to feel bad, I guess?” And the child’s 
patronising superiority was colossal. 

Merton felt a sudden hatred for all small boys 
and for Pat Mandeville in particular. Even the 
beauty seemed fading from Violet’s sunny face, 
and the sky above, and sea below were robbed 
of their sapphire glory. He decided that he 


404 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


hated yachting and wished himself back in the 
solid grey pile of buildings at Whitehall. No- 
body appreciated his talents in this ridiculous 
world of sea and mountain and moor, and Mer- 
ton could hardly bear not to be appreciated. 

“ Lunch is ready,” continued Pat with a 
wicked little grin. “ I’m jolly hungry. Aren’t 
you two ? ” 

“ Of course,” replied Yiolet quickly. It vexed 
her that Merton should be such a poor sailor, 
and she felt an unholy desire to make him suffer 
for it ; a most unnecessary piece of discipline on 
her part, seeing that the excursion was providing 
him with quite enough suffering of itself. 

She sat next Ian Evelix in the saloon, and de- 
lighted in the immensity of his appetite, while 
poor Merton played with dry toast and soda and 
water and wished he were dead. 

“I had a wire from General Woodbridge just 
before we started,” said Lady Clementina, “to 
say he is coming to stay. Isn’t it dear of him, 
seeing that I never asked him ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! mother,” interrupted Victoria, 
“you forget. You must have invited him to 
stay with us next summer.” 

“ But next summer is never supposed to come, 
you know, my dear. I have one such laid up 


KERRIESOKT LODGE 


405 


for me somewhere crammed full of plans and 
visitors and duties.” 

“ It is so easy to promise you will go and see 
people in summer,” said Yiolet. 

“ And make them guild clothes for the same 
date,” continued Victoria. “ I belong to several 
of that kind.” 

“ Speaking of guilds,” observed Lady Middle- 
sex with a sudden burst of interest, “ reminds me 
that I promised to collect something for soldiers, 
but I have forgotten exactly what.” 

“ Perhaps Evelix can make a suggestion,” said 
Admiral Kingston. 

“My experience of soldiers would suggest 
plenty of requirements,” replied the hero looking 
up from a salad which he and Violet were con- 
cocting together. 

“ But now I come to think of it,” continued 
her ladyship, “ I believe it was sailors not sol- 
diers, and I feel sure it is something knitted. 
Nightcaps, perhaps.” 

“ General Woodbridge took me down to dinner 
one night this season,” Victoria told them. “ He 
never spoke during the soup and then he asked 
me if I had a husband.” 

“ What did you say, Vic ? ” asked her mother. 

“ I was very kind and explanatory and said 


406 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


that I had not, but I was the daughter of Mr. 
Mandeville and then I quoted the Court Guide 
to father so that he might fully understand my 
parentage. During the second entree he asked 
me if my husband was in the House of 
Commons.” 

“ And what did you tell him that time ? ” Ian 
Evelix asked. 

“I was still perseveringly patient, like Ba- 
laam’s ass, and repeated that I had not a hus- 
band, but that my father was in the House of 
Commons. Then he asked me if my father was 
alive.” 

“ What a delightful man he must be ! ” ex- 
claimed Sir Charles whose anxieties over the 
luncheon were somewhat abating within his 
bachelor soul. 

“ I explained that father was sufficiently alive 
as I had already told him, to be in Parliament, 
though of course that does not presuppose an in- 
ordinate stock of vitality. And he thought that 
well over during two courses.” 

“ And then ? ” queried the admiral. 

“ Then he asked me if my husband was there 
that night, and I said, not that I knew of ; but 
one could never tell what might come out of 
such parties.” 


KERRIESORT LODGE 


407 


“ I am so glad he is coming,” exclaimed Lady 
Clementina joining in the general laugh. “It 
will he such fun ! ” 

“I suppose the sailors would not mind if I 
used up some old wool I have by me for the 
nightcaps ? ” Lady Middlesex asked the admiral. 
“ The only thing against it is that it is pink, and 
sailors are supposed to prefer navy blue, aren’t 
they ? But the colour would hardly matter by 
lamplight ? ” 

“ It ought to match their dressing-gowns, 
Aunt Annabel,” suggested Victoria solemnly. 
But just then the captain of the yacht appeared 
at the door of the saloon with a mysterious mes- 
sage for Sir Charles, and after much whispering 
and rushing about, the passengers were informed 
that the engines had broken down and there was 
no chance of returning by the yacht that night. 
Neither was ft safe to anchor her in so rough a 
sea on that rocky coast, and the boat was too 
small to convey the party to land, even if they 
were quite sure that land was near enough to 
row to. 

“Oh, Merton!” exclaimed Violet rushing up 
on to the bridge, “ we are shipwrecked. Isn’t it 
an adventure ? ” 

“ Shipwrecked ! ” he echoed in a voice of dis- 


408 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


tress, having been counting the hours before full 
steam could bring them back to land. “ What 
do you mean ? ” 

“ The engines have collapsed, and we can’t lie 
to, so we must signal for help.” 

“But there isn’t a boat in sight,” and they 
scanned the wide, unbroken stretch of horizon 
line. 

A babel of voices rose from the saloon as the 
party came on deck. 

“ How frightful ! ” cried Lady Clementina. “ I 
am terrified. But isn’t it fun, girls ? I do hope 
we shan’t have to swim for our lives. Salt water 
makes one so dreadfully sticky.” 

“ I feel like Robinson Crusoe, or the Ancient 
Mariner, or somebod}^ equally classic,” said Vic- 
toria. “ I do hope there is a desert island handy. 
I don’t expect I shall be quite at my best on a 
desert island, though anything is better than in 
the sea on an afternoon like this.” 

“ Desert islands are often wonderfully produc- 
tive,” added Lady Middlesex. “I remember 
reading somewhere of one on which all the neces- 
saries of life both as regards food and clothing 
were to be found.” 

“ Well, let us hope we shall be cast on it, Aunt 
Annabel,” and Victoria’s eyes twinkled. 


KERRIESORT LODGE 


409 


“ They were foreigners, I believe, who found 
it,” continued Lady Middlesex, “ with rather an 
ordinary name such as Tomkinson. But I forget 
the exact details.” 

“Weren’t they a Swiss family called Robin- 
son ? ” suggested her niece demurely. 

“ I dare say so, dear. Robinson ! Yes, I think 
that was the name. I had the impression that 
they were nobody particular.” 

J ust then Admiral Kingston and Ian Evelix 
came up from the engine room. 

“ It is no use,” was the tale they had to tell. 
“ Blow the fog horn and then whistle and wave 
a flag of distress, for there is a sail in sight.” 

Merton’s face was white as marble. He was 
feeling quite unhappy enough before when he had 
Kerriesort Lodge in a few hours to look forward 
to. But now the horror of this new catastrophe 
took all the starch out of his limbs, made him 
register a mighty vow that he would never enter 
a boat again. 

“ What is the matter ? ” Yiolet asked him, with 
a little frown between her eyebrows. 

“ Matter enough, I should think ! ” he exclaimed 
ungraciously, for he was feeling too ill and un- 
happy to be either heroic or polite. 

“ I am glad I am one of the women and chil- 


410 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


dren,” and Yiolet laughed. “ I should hate to be 
a man and have to swim in that nasty cold 
water.” 

“ I can’t swim,” said Merton gloomily. 

“ Not swim ! ” and her voice indicated surprised 
displeasure. “ Then you can’t rescue me. How 
stupid and tiresome of you ! And I believe you 
are afraid, too,” she added spitefully. “ You look 
livid.” 

“ I do hope,” sighed Lady Middlesex, “ that if 
we should be detained from home as castaways, 
or anything of that kind, that Madeline will re- 
member that all the money in the small division 
of my cash-box is what I have collected for chari- 
table purposes and not my own. It would be so 
distressing to me if she spent it on gloves.” 

“ It would be a fine haul for Madeline,” laughed 
Victoria. 

“ Oh, but, my dear ! You forget how specially 
wicked it would be. Something of the same kind 
as that of which poor Ananias and Sapphira were 
such sad examples.” 

“ But Madeline’s would not be at all a similar 
case, Aunt Annabel.” 

“ Perhaps not. Still one cannot be too care- 
ful.” 

“ Violet,” sighed Merton, to whom in his pres- 


KERKIESOBT LODGE 


411 


ent state of seasickness the thought of death 
seemed but a pleasant deliverance, “ it is a nice 
thing to think we shall go down together.” 

“ No, it isn’t ! ” she cried vehemently. “ It is 
perfectly horrid ; and I wish you wouldn’t have 
such creepy ideas. I shall ask Captain Evelix if 
there is any danger,” she added as a parting 
threat. 

“You are not afraid?” said Ian gently, as 
Violet laid a pleading hand on his tied-up sleeve. 

“ No, of course not. But there is no real dan- 
ger, is there ? ” and her blue eyes were faintly 
clouded with anxiety. 

“ Not the slightest bit in the world,” he assured 
her. “ Who has been trying to frighten ? ” 

“Nobody. Only Mr. Wainwright seemed to 
think we might all be drowned.” 

Ian’s lips curled with scorn, but all he said, 
was : 

“ What rot ! ” 

“ I suppose you can swim ? ” Violet asked him. 

“ That is almost as funny a question to ask an 
Evelix, as to ask a fish ! ” he exclaimed with a 
smile. “ Don’t you know that Castle Evelix is 
built on a rock sheer out of the sea, so that as a 
youngster I was as much in the water as on 
land ? ” 


412 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“But would not your bad arm prevent you 
now ? ” 

“Rather not. I could keep myself afloat — 
and you,” and his eyes were full of a dangerous 
tenderness, “if there were any necessity. But 
there won’t be,” he added emphatically, which 
settled the matter once for all in Violet’s mind, 
as she was one of those women, who implicitly 
trust masculine assurance however great her 
feminine fear. 

“ Look what I have thought of ! ” cried Lady 
Clementina, waving a saucepan in the air. “ It 
will be absolutely priceless in the desert island. 
Oh, I do call this fun ! ” rushing round exhibiting 
her treasure with delight. 

All this time the captain of the yacht, assisted 
by Sir Charles, Admiral Kingston and Pat were 
signalling wildly to attract the attention of a 
fishing smack which was on its homeward 
way after two months’ fishing in the northern 
seas. 

“ She’s altering her course,” exclaimed the ad- 
miral, as the big brown sail was shifted. “ It is 
your whistling that’s done it,” he added to Pat, 
who was almost black in the face with his pro- 
tracted efforts. 

“ I can whistle through my fingers rather de- 


KEREIESOKT LODGE 


413 


cently,” replied the small boy proudly, “ and the 
sound carries a jolly long way.” 

“ If we are going to be picked up by that boat,” 
Victoria remarked, “ I shall put on my ulster, for 
there seems to be almost as many waves over as 
under it.” 

“ I can never jump on to it,” shrieked Lady 
Clementina, “ it bounces so. What a frightful 
adventure this is ! ” 

“ Please be very careful not to let my mother 
slip into the sea,” Victoria begged Sir Charles. 
“ We are rather fussy about her, and it is most 
important that she should be kept dry.” 

“ My dear, that sounds as if I never washed,” 
Lady Clementina chimed in. 

“ Oh no ! It is only salt water that you can’t 
stand. I don’t know what can stand salt water 
except blue serge, and that only does so in the 
advertisements.” 

When it came to the transit from the yacht to 
the smack there was really a small opportunity 
for bravery ; the sea was playing pitch and toss 
with the smaller craft much more vigorously than 
with the yacht, and there was a yawning gulf of 
deep, green water continually appearing between 
the two. 

Lady Clementina squealed and flung her arms 


414 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


round Admiral Kingston’s neck before she was 
safely over, but the girls held on to Ian Evelix’s 
hand and felt they could have run any risk safely 
with such support. Merton, sick and giddy 
enough before, shrank from the leap, and called 
forth even Pat’s juvenile contempt by his help- 
less hesitation. 

“ Come on,” exclaimed the young soldier, who 
stood as firmly on the rocking boat as if it were a 
drawing-room floor. “ Here, I have hold of you,” 
and with his strong arm he swung Merton across. 

Yiolet glanced at them both ; and her pitiless, 
girlish judgment made no allowances for the 
wretched combination of seasickness and jeal- 
ousy from which poor Merton was suffering. She 
only thought what a miserable contrast he looked 
to the hero of the Victoria Cross, and, for not 
quite the first time since he had been with them 
at Kerriesort, she felt a little ashamed of him. 

It was a very rough craft which had come to 
their rescue, with five fishermen who could only 
understand Gaelic, in which it was fortunate that 
Ian Evelix could talk to them. They were going 
home to land that night and were quite willing 
to take the yacht party with them. 

“ It was most providential their being in sight,” 
exclaimed Lady Clementina thankfully. 


KERRIESORT LODGE 


415 


“ I should call it a special providence,” said 
her sister-in-law ; as if a special providence were 
something as exclusive and expensive as a special 
train. 

“ This is quite an adventure ! ” and the admiral 
chuckled with innate cheeriness. “ I never was 
in such a wreck before though I have been in the 
navy for nearly fifty years. And you, my dear 
ladies, are all so plucky I am quite proud of you. 
Ha ! Ha ! ” 

“I am afraid,” began Lady Middlesex, “that 
fishermen are somewhat neglected religiously as 
a class. Would you mind, Captain Evelix, just 
asking them to what parish they belong and 
whether there are any district visitors to look 
after them ? ” 

“ In the North Sea do you mean ? ” asked Vic- 
toria innocently. 

“ But I thought you had something to do your- 
self with deep sea fishermen ? ” said Lady 
Clementina. “I remember your telling me 
about them.” 

Lady Middlesex looked puzzled. 

“ Now I come to think of it,” she said slowly, 
“ I believe Madeline crochets for them. And I 
did something too, but I forgot exactly what.” 

“ Well, that shows they are well looked after, 


416 THE WORLD AND WIHSTOW 


my dear aunt.” And Yictoria helped to wrap a 
disused sail round Lady Middlesex’s shoulders ; 
for the waves broke over the deck on which they 
all sat, with their feet dangling down into the 
hold. 

“ I remember the missioners staying with us 
sometime last year,” continued Lady Middlesex, 
utterly oblivious of the continuous showers of 
spray. “ He was such an earnest man — a widower 
with ten children.” 

“ Enough to make him earnest,” interpolated 
Yictoria. 

“ He has married again now, most suitably, to 
the secretary of the Young Women’s Recreative 
Association, I believe. He has always been 
most dutiful in providing a home for his aged 
parents.” 

“ And will the late secretary keep them on ? ” 
her niece asked with interest. 

“ The mother, I think, has passed away since 
the marriage.” 

“ If I had been the bride,” said Yictoria, “ I 
should rather have kept the mother and let the 
father pass away.” 

“ But she would hardly be consulted, my dear. 
One is so powerless in a case of paralysis to 
carry out any preconceived designs.” 


KERRIESORT LODGE 


417 


“I am extremely sorry this has happened,’’ 
said the unhappy host. 

“But don’t be, Sir Charles. It is such a 
thrilling experience, and we are all enjoying it 
so much,” kindly replied Victoria who was de- 
testing it with all her might. “ Only,” as she 
explained to Major Trayne afterwards, “how 
could she be truthful with Sir Charles’ sad face 
bending over her ? ” 

“ It is very good of you to say so,” murmured 
her host gratefully, which was precisely what it 
was not. Indeed it was distinctly wicked, as 
Victoria freely confessed, but she was sorry for 
him to be so very wretched. 

“ And some of them did enjoy it, you know,” 
she added as an excuse, “Pat did immensely, 
and the admiral, as well as Violet and Ian 
Evelix.” 

For those two young people sat close together 
and talked in whispers and made delightful, silly 
little jokes, just as the Mandeville girls were 
wont to do with every man to whom they sub- 
sequently became engaged ; and Merton clung to 
a rope at the other end of the boat and har- 
bored thoughts of murder. 

“ Sir Simon Fortescue was telling me yester- 
day,” remarked Victoria as she glanced at his 


418 THE WORLD AND W1NSTOW 


lowering brow, “ that people can actually die of 
temper, and that makes me wonder,” she added 
in a low voice to the admiral, “ why Aunt Anna- 
bel has not lost some of her nearest and 
dearest.” 

“ Ha ! Ha ! my dear young lady, very neat 
that. But begad ! the noble earl was in a deuce 
of a passion with young Wain wright out on the 
hill.” 

“ What had he done ? ” 

“ Caught his foot over some stones and came 
down with a fine crash and of course the stag 
Lord Middlesex had been stalking for hours was 
off like the wind.” 

“ I can’t bear people who catch their feet in 
things,” observed Victoria thoughtfully. “But 
I am going to talk to Merton now if you will 
help me to creep under the sail. I feel it my 
duty as a district visitor.” 

But Merton was past appreciating Victoria’s 
kind efforts, and answered her rippling talk with 
ungracious monosyllables ; though all of this 
she readily forgave, knowing how extremely 
unhappy he really was, and expecting he would 
be still more so before very long. 

The fishing smack landed them safely after 
many tacks, concerning the necessity of which 


KERRIESORT LODGE 


419 


every one on board had a separate opinion, 
though the fishermen did their own way un- 
moved by even an admiral’s advice, and conse- 
quently made the harbour in time for the party 
to catch the public steamer which conveyed 
them to their island home. And though dinner 
was not served till after midnight Violet was 
obliged to have a talk with Victoria before she 
went to bed. 

“ It’s no use, Vic,” she exclaimed vehemently, 
“ I can never do it.” 

“ What, dear ? ” 

“ Why, marry Merton, of course. What shall 
I do?” 

“ Break it off,” suggested Victoria, trying to 
banish the “ I-told-you-so ” expression from her 
far-seeing eyes. 

“ You must tell me how to do it,” said her 
younger sister, sadly. “ You have had so much 
more practice than I.” 

“I should write,” and Victoria looked thought- 
ful. 

“ But I can’t write to a man who is staying in 
the house.” 

“He won’t be staying in the house much 
longer, Vi dear. You know he is obliged to go 
back to his work almost at once.” 


420 THE WOKLD AND WINSTOW 


“ I can’t bear to behave badly,” sighed Vio- 
let. “ I never have before.” 

“ Oh ! I have lots of times,” said Victoria 
cheerfully, “ and you don’t really mind when 
you once get used to it. Besides it would be 
behaving much worse to marry him feeling as 
you do.” 

“ Are you sure ? What a comforting way of 
putting things you have ! ” 

“ That thought has often comforted me,” 
Victoria confessed with a little laugh. 

“It is peculiarly soothing! And you really 
think it is my duty to break it off ? ” 

“ I do indeed. Your solemn duty.” 

“ How nice of you to say so, Vic. It has made 
me feel so much better already. And I don’t 
think we are suited to each other, do you ? ” 

“ Oh, not at all ! ” 

“ And I should not make him happy, should I ? ” 
“ Quite the reverse.” 

“ It is such a relief to me to hear you say so. 
And you think it would be positively wrong to go 
on w T ith the engagement now, don’t you, Vic ? ” 

“ I do indeed, under the circumstances.” 

“Then that is all right,” and Violet shook 
back her wealth of golden hair from a distinctly 
happier face. 


KERRIESORT LODGE 


421 


“ He can marry that little dowdy Grey girl 
now/’ suggested her sister. 

“ Oh, no ! Yic. He could not possibly like her 
as much as he does me.” 

“ But I thought you did not want him to like 
you any more ? ” And Victoria’s eyes twinkled 
though her lips were very grave. 

“ I don’t want to like him,” Violet explained 
quickly, “ but it would be too horrid if he ceased 
to like me. He must never marry. I should be 
furious if he did.” 

“ Of course you would. I was only joking.” 

“ Victoria,” said her younger sister slowly after 
a long pause, “ how soon do you think it would 
be proper to be engaged to somebody else ? ” 

“ For my part I always prefer to be on with 
the new love before I am off with the old.” 

A little smile ran round Violet’s lips and lurked 
in her eyes. 

“ Oh ! I think there should be an interval,” she 
said demurely. “ Hot a very long one, perhaps, 
but quite an interval.” 

“ I dare say you are right, Vic. It does seem 
less heartless.” 

u But I am not a bit heartless, am I ? It is 
really because I have so much heart that I shrink 
even from continuing a loveless engagement.” 


422 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


“ Exactly. But don’t you think it is time now 
we went to sleep ? We can compose the letter 
after he has gone.” 

“ Oh, Yic ! What a dear you are ! I was feel- 
ing quite unhappy about it all till you showed 
me so splendidly that it is only my duty. And 
I am sure it will be much better for Merton him- 
self in the long run.” 

“ As well as for you, dear. Good-night.” 


CHAPTER XIV 


“ THE MEASURE YE METE ” 

“With what measure ye mete it shall be 
measured to you again,” is a truth concerning 
our dealings with our fellow-men in this world, 
whatever deeper reference it may have to that 
which is to come. What we are to other people 
they will usually be to us, and if we give them 
of our good things we shall not in our turn be 
sent empty away. It is not always, however, 
that a precisely similar measuring glass is used 
in which to restore to us our deserts ; as it was 
in the case of Merton Wain wright, for the post- 
man brought him just such another letter as that 
which he had written to Ursula directly after the 
ball. A cleverer letter no doubt, for Merton 
with all his distinctions was no match intellectu- 
ally for Victoria Mandeville, and she it was who 
had composed for Violet what would be best to 
say. A less brutally selfish letter on the surface 
though quite as deeply if more subtly so under- 
neath ; and touched with light-hearted careless- 
ness which Merton once found so fascinating in 
423 


424 THE WOULD AKD WINSTOW 


the way the Mandeville girls looked at things. 
But that sheet of writing paper sent for a penny 
to spoil a life, said in different words exactly the 
same thing which Merton himself had written to 
Ursula when he told her that her place in his life 
was wanted for somebody else. He did not ac- 
knowledge this to himself, indeed if he had given 
the comparison a thought, he would have felt how 
infinitely worse it was for Yiolet to throw him 
over than for him to throw over Ursula. A 
bitter anger filled his heart at first against every 
member of the Mandeville set, and most espe- 
cially against Ian Evelix, whom he felt, was the 
rival who had wrought all the mischief. And his 
instinct in this matter was perfectly correct. If 
Captain Evelix, fresh from the war, with all its 
glories pinned on to his coat in the guise of a 
small iron cross, had not come home again just 
then with his arm in a sling most likely Yiolet 
Mandeville might have been true to Merton for 
several weeks or even months longer ; though the 
fact of his failure at Kerriesort to be exactly like 
all the other men in dress and skill and speech 
had taken no small share in the undermining of 
his hold on her susceptible, conventional little 
heart. 

“ Curse the fellow, and his beastly blue eyes ! ” 


“ THE MEASURE YE METE ” 


425 


he muttered furiously, as he paced up and down 
the room, his breakfast lying untasted on the 
table. “ And curse the whole pack of women as 
a set of fools, who care nothing for a fellow’s 
brains compared to his brute force. I suppose if 
I had been four inches taller, and as good a shot 
as I am a scholar I might have competed with 
the noble Evelix ! ” he added in a rush of bitter- 
ness. 

The fire of Merton’s wrath burned brightly 
for several days and a gradually diminishing 
portion of several nights also. But, as all fires 
have a knack of doing, it at last burnt itself out, 
and left a cheerless little heap of ashes in its 
place. As he stood ruefully regarding the dull, 
grey cinders instead of the garden of his ro- 
mance which had flowered so gaily only a few 
weeks before, a great sadness and self-pity swept 
over Merton’s soul. Anger keeps a man from 
feeling lonely, but when that had died down 
Merton realised how his life was suddenly emp- 
tied of all that had made it full and rich and 
interesting, and he felt utterly alone as he sor- 
rowfully contemplated this new and painful 
experience. Clubs and theatres and parties he 
solemnly eschewed, and made up his mind that 
he had done with them forever, for how could 


426 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


he again have the heart to laugh and talk as 
other men ? Instead, he mournfully smoked his 
pipe in the seclusion of his own room, and in- 
dulged in a gentle melancholy which sometimes 
sent him to sleep and always soothed him. How 
cruelly he had been treated, and how sorry Vi- 
olet would be when she realised what she had 
been foolish enough to throw away! It was 
rather a puzzle to him how Violet could be 
brought to a state of repentance, but he at last 
decided that it should be by means of his own 
early death. “ Cut off in the very prime of man- 
hood,” he murmured to himself with satisfaction. 
The papers would have little paragraphs, and 
Violet would read them and be sorry. He was 
undecided as to the nature of the fatal illness 
when a still happier thought struck him: it 
should not be an illness at all — illnesses were 
dull and tiresome and involved so much that was 
unromantic and not picturesque — no, it should be 
an accident. An accident at Hyde Park Corner, 
when the Mandevilles’ carriage was just coming 
out, and Violet should see him, with his white, 
set face upturned in the centre of the gathering 
crowd, and springing out of the carriage rush to 
his side. He could not quite make up his mind 
whether there should be a gleam of returning 


“ THE MEASUEE YE METE ” 


427 


consciousness, which he could utilise by giving 
her one reproachful look, but she would fall 
sobbing beside him and press her lips to his cold, 
dead face, and beg for forgiveness which it was 
too late to grant. Oh ! it would be very thrill- 
ing and touching, and newspapers would tell 
the romantic story, and all society would read it. 
He lit another pipe with a really pleasurable sen- 
sation. Perhaps the shock would turn Violet’s 
lovely golden hair grey in one night — but he did 
not care to imagine what would happen after the 
funeral. It 'would be too dull a world then for 
anything to matter much, he felt sure. But the 
funeral itself he thoroughly enjoyed, and settled 
on most of the wreaths and floral tributes, which 
he decided should be a blaze of colour instead of 
the usual white and mauve, just to indicate in a 
subtle way, which he could not quite define, that 
the career which had thus been destroyed by so 
unexpected a death was brilliant and bright and 
blazing with promise. Crimson azaleas, he felt, 
would artistically portray this idea, but there 
would also be a little, clumsily- wired spray, the 
work of Violet’s own hands and wet with her 
tears among all the florists’ costly flowers. He 
tried to picture Violet making that spray, her 
sweet eyes drowned with sorrow and her bright 


428 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


face white with pain and remorse, but he could 
not do it. He could only remember her smiling 
in the sunshine, with a mischievous glint of fun 
in her merry blue eyes, and the sound of her 
trill-like laughter filled his ears. And then, 
down tumbled the ridiculous cardhouse he had 
been building so elaborately, and the memory of 
that sunny little cluster of curls at the back of 
her neck moved him with a sudden longing 
for her again so deep and strong that a big sob 
choked in his throat, and he laid his head on his 
arms, bowed down with the misery of loss and 
despair. 

As there is a dignity born of all suffering, so 
Merton was more of a man when he went back 
into his former life and habits. He turned to 
his work with a renewed determination to find 
in that the interest which he used to believe was 
enough to fill a man’s life. He dug up his old 
enthusiasms, and resolved that he would still 
succeed ; that work would be his pleasure as well 
as his duty, and his engagement to Yiolet but a 
holiday idyll, crowded out of his thoughts and 
feelings by the superior force and strength of 
this work. But woman has a way of leaving 
very empty a place where she has once passed 
by ; and Merton found that the old dreams of 


“THE MEASUKE YE METE ” 


429 


happiness in his profession were dull and grey, 
and his young ambitions to succeed only for the 
sake of success grown limp and weak, now there 
was no woman to work for in his life. For since 
Merton had known Violet he had thought more 
about the Lady Wain wright than the Sir Mer- 
ton, K. C. B., of which he had once boyishly 
boasted to his mother. 

It was in his new, strange desolation of spirit 
that Merton’s thoughts went back to Ursula. 
Now that he was so sore he remembered her 
soothing ways; — now nobody cared for him in 
London he saw again her outstretched hands and 
the glad light of welcome in her eyes ; now that 
he inwardly fumed at the knowledge of Ian 
Evelix’s superiority to himself in several, though 
really unimportant, ways, he felt a touch of com- 
fort in Ursula’s old, unbounded admiration and 
loyalty. He would go back to Ursula. The re- 
solve blazed across the pages of a book he was 
trying to read, and once started it grew with 
amazing rapidity. How sweet would be her de- 
light at his return, and the raw place in his heart 
would be quite safe from any careless touch, for 
did not Ursula always understand, and was not 
her good taste the outcome of sensitive sympathy 
rather than just a question of manners and tact ? 


430 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


He need never feel afraid of her sharp eyes and 
tongue as he had always been a little of Yiolet’s, 
even during their happiest days — for Ursula had 
always looked up to him. And as he sat think- 
ing over her glad greetings, for he would lose no 
time in going down to see her, he decided that 
he should perhaps be really happier with her 
after all, for a man has enough fencing and fight- 
ing to do in the world outside not to want his 
home to be an unfailing haven of rest. And 
Yiolet would not have been at all a rest. The 
life she loved was a strain to those not born to 
it, and Merton felt utterly tired now at the 
thought of always being on his best behaviour 
and in his dress clothes. A man ought to be the 
leading spirit in his own home, and looked up to 
and admired in a way in which he knew Yiolet 
never would have done. But with Ursula it 
would be different. She would understand that 
he could do no wrong. So Merton’s brain gal- 
loped on, and it never once struck him that pos- 
sibly Ursula had not been sitting still and wait- 
ing for him all this time. 

He had heard from his mother that a por- 
tion of the Win stow world had taken itself 
for an autumn holiday to a village on the 
east coast. And he remembered now, from her 


“ THE MEASURE YE METE ” 


431 


allusion to the girl’s growing strong again there, 
that Ursula had been ill when he was at Kerrie- 
sort. 

He was glad that she was not ill now, just 
when he wanted her. His own people were at 
Uppers trand, and the Coxes were to join them 
almost immediately. Also the Greys and David 
Carpenter. He referred to Mrs. Wain wright’s 
letter again, having been too much occupied to 
read it carefully at the time; and the warm 
motherliness of the tone, which assured him that 
all his troubles were hers, without going into 
any galling particulars concerning Violet’s treat- 
ment of him in breaking off the engagement, 
soothed his sore spirit, and he felt it would be 
very good to see his mother again. So with 
some alacrity he plunged into a Great Eastern 
time-table, and made his plans for spending the 
next week end at Upperstrand. 

The news of Merton’s broken engagement, 
however, filled his people at home with much in- 
dignation, though his mother was too wise to 
mention this in writing to him. Gertrude and 
Gladys, who had hoped for much fun from the 
connection, were specially irate, and Mr. Wain- 
wright gave expression to some emphatic re- 
marks concerning the behaviour of fine ladies 


432 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


in general and Violet Mandeville in particular, 
which his son-in-law loudly applauded. 

Indeed it brought it home to Albert Cox in a 
peculiarly pleasing manner how wise he had 
been to select a wife from a less exalted social 
station than Merton had so foolishly aspired to. 

“But when the boy comes,” said Mrs. Wain- 
wright looking up from the telegram which an- 
nounced his advent, “ don’t speak a word to him 
about it. If he wants to talk he can, but it is 
not for us to begin it. Don’t forget what I say, 
Gladys.” 

“ Gertrude said she should tell him what she 
thought of this Miss Violet Mandeville in double 
quick time,” said her daughter testily, “ and I 
think she’s the right of it.” 

“ Gertrude is not coming till next week, and 
Merton will have gone back by then, which I 
can’t help feeling is all for the best; for Ger- 
trude is a bit too out-spoken with the men to my 
thinking.” 

“ Is he surprised about Ursula’s engagement to 
David ? ” asked Gladys. 

“I did not tell him, my dear. Other folks’ 
good news is a bit trying when our own is bad, 
and it’s better not to talk too much about it.” 

“What Ursula sees in that dull, old fogey, 


“ THE MEASURE YE METE ” 


433 


I can’t imagine. Give me a young one for 
choice,” and Gladys smiled with satisfaction at 
the thought of Bernard Holt’s small aggregate 
of years. 

“ Oh, well, my dear ! it is fortunate we don’t 
all see alike, and I am sure David will be kind- 
ness itself to the poor child. So thin and pale 
as she was after that nasty fever.” 

“He has to go away for this next Sunday, 
mother, to see about something down at that 
school in Devonshire of which he has been ap- 
pointed the headmaster.” 

“ And a sweet home he’ll make of it for 
Ursula. He and Merton will be sorry to miss 
each other, though. However, perhaps when 
you’re staying altogether in lodgings at the sea- 
side it is better to have as few men about as 
possible. Papa and Mr. Grey are a bit of a 
handful when they take to politics, without any 
of the younger ones chiming in.” 

“How do you think Georgina and Mr. Grey 
get on with each other, mother ? ” 

“Well, my dear, it is my opinion she is a bit 
too strict.” Here the good lady shook her head. 
“ And strictness doesn’t do for men. When they 
get married it is a home they want and not a 
dame-school, and it is a woman’s place to make 


434 THE WOULD AND WINSTOW 


a home in what is only a house without her. 
But Georgina isn’t that sort.” 

“Do you think Mr. Grey is fond of her?” 
Gladys asked. 

“No, my love, I do not. Neither, I think, 
does Georgina, but she will never scold him into 
it, which is what a woman often tries to do when 
she can’t make her husband love her for herself ; 
though scolding never pays, you mark my 
words.” 

“ He seems to cling much more to Ursula than 
he used. Haven’t you noticed it, mother ? ” 

“Yes, and that is often the way. Folks want 
a thing just because they have lost the chance of 
getting it. Since Ursula belonged to David here 
is one, and there is another who suddenly have 
discovered that they want her, too ! Ah, my 
dear, it is the same old story ! The buns in the 
shop windows look twice as tasty as those on 
the tea-table at home, especially to a man.” 

“That is why papa always finds fault with 
our cooking compared to other people’s, I sup- 
pose ? ” 

“Well, my love, and what if he does? It is 
but natural, and I understand all about it. It is 
a great mistake for a wife to feel hurt when her 
husband complains that her cooking isn’t like 


“ THE MEASUKE YE METE ” 


435 


what his mother’s used to be. Why, bless me, 
it is the lad’s appetite that made the old dishes 
at home taste so much better than those he has 
worked to pay for as a man. You remember 
that, Gladys, if ever you get married.” 

“ If ever ! ” repeated her daughter with fine 
scorn, “I like that! I have only to wind up 
Bernard Holt now and I’ve got him on toast,” 
boasted the young lady in language more ex- 
pressive than elegant. 

“ And a good husband he will make you, my 
dear, having a comfortable professional income 
and no bad habits. But don’t forget that mar- 
rying is something more than a bit of fun, 
Gladys. It is the work as well as the happiness 
of a lifetime — and unless it is the former I reckon 
it will fail to be the latter, for one at least of the 
parties concerned.” 

“ What time will Merton be here, mother ? ” 

“ About three o’clock. I will stay in to re- 
ceive him with a bit of dinner put by. And you 
go for the drive with papa and the Greys.” 

“ I don’t much care for those long drives,” 
said Gladys doubtfully. 

“ Oh ! but, my dear ! you must. Papa has 
hired a landau and pair, and he would be so put 
about if you didn’t enjoy yourself.” 


436 THE WORLD AHD WINSTOW 


“ How can I enjoy sitting still for two hours, 
listening to Mr. Grey and papa and Georgina 
wrangling about free trade and horrid dull things 
like that ? ” And Gladys spoke impatiently. 

“ I know, love. It is a bit dull. But papa 
can’t understand that young people do not enjoy 
the same things that he does ; and it vexes him 
if they don’t seem to. So we must dissemble 
just a little, my dear, for the sake of peace. And 
mother will plan a nice treat for you next Satur- 
day, when Bernard Holt will be here, to make 
up, if you will take care that papa is pleased to- 
day.” 

While Merton was travelling down through 
the flat eastern counties to Upperstrand he kept 
picturing his meeting with Ursula. He thought 
that under her influence he would forget the 
sharp lessons of the last few months, and feel 
the old buoyancy of spirit that he used to enjoy 
showing off, and made him feel so proud of him- 
self and all his wonderful achievements. He 
was very homesick for that nice, young feeling 
now. But his journey would not have been so 
pleasant a one if he had foreseen what was about 
to happen at either end of it. He would never 
have started on it if he had known that his sister 
Gertrude and her husband intended utilising 


“ THE MEASURE YE METE ” 


437 


their first afternoon in London in calling on 
Violet Mandeville, and giving her what Mrs. 
Cox was wont to describe as “ a piece of my 
mind.” 

“ Her behaviour to Merton is really disgrace- 
ful,” exclaimed Gertrude Cox, flushed with the 
joys of the table d’hote luncheon at the Grand 
Hotel, and strengthened thereby to abnormal 
bravery. “And I shall take good care to let 
her know what I think of her. Can I have 
twice of joint without paying extra, Albert ? ” 

Her husband chuckled. He always considered 
Gertrude’s indignation as a superb joke. 

“ Oh, my ! ” he observed meaningly. “ I 
wouldn’t be in that girl’s shoes for ninepence 
this afternoon. You will give it her hot, no 
doubt.” 

“ Trust me,” replied Gertrude firmly. And 
Albert did. “ She shall know what people think 
of her, and feel ashamed of playing fast and 
loose in such a heartless manner.” 

“ What a spirit you have ! ” and Albert re- 
garded her admiringly. “ I should funk the job 
myself.” 

“ Funk it ! ” repeated his wife scornfully, “ and 
what is there to be afraid of, I should like to 
know ? I am surprised at you, Albert ! ” 


438 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


Gertrude’s courage waxed even stronger as 
they drove in a hansom to Grosvenor Square. 

“ Don’t expect me to do any of the talking,” 
said her husband as the cab drew up. “ Merton 
is your brother, not mine.” 

“I know that,” she replied sharply. “But I 
don’t want any one’s help, thank you. I am 
quite competent to deal with this young woman 
without any one’s assistance.” 

“I believe you are, my dear,” added Albert 
with a wink. 

Miss Mandeville was at home, the butler told 
them. In the flurry of the moment Gertrude 
had forgotten that Yiolet had an elder sister. 
Albert was wondering why it took a butler and 
two footmen to answer the front door bell — it 
seemed to him a waste of labour. 

“ It is very solemn,” he remarked to Gertrude, 
when they were left alone in the big drawing- 
room, u but ain’t it all scrumptuous ? ” 

The scent of lilies and tuberoses pervaded the 
atmosphere which was warmed by the prettiest 
fire imaginable. Fires, like most other things, 
have their own individuality, and we know the 
sulky as well as the smiling one, the friendly fire 
as well as the fierce. This one in the Mande- 
villes’ drawing-room touched with its glow the 


“ THE MEASURE YE METE ” 


439 


thick, green carpet till it looked like a lawn in 
the sunshine, and enriched the many coloured 
knickknacks and cushions which were crowded 
everywhere in artistic carelessness. It smiled on 
the profusion of cut flowers and tall, stately 
plants as if to make up to them for the loss of 
the outside light, which a grimy fog was stealing 
too early even for an autumn afternoon. And it 
shed a suggestion of comfort as well as beauty 
throughout the whole room. Albert peered 
about on tiptoe, though his footsteps would in 
any case have been muffled by the thick velvet 
pile, and Gertrude forgot her mission in gazing 
at the innumerable photographs, many of which 
were signed with most distinguished names. 

“ Mr. and Mrs. Albert Cox,” repeated Victoria 
with a puzzled expression when the summons 
reached her. “ I never heard of such people.” 

“Constituents,” suggested Lady Clementina, 
in whose boudoir they were sitting. “ Do go and 
cope with them. I am too busy. Say that I am 
ill, or out, or resting.” 

“ But they asked for me, apparently.” 

“ Do you remember the last constituents who 
called,” continued her mother with a little shriek 
of laughter, “how awful it was! Your father 
sent up for me, and that idiot Charles came down 


440 THE WORLD AND WINSTOAV 


again and announced, ‘ Her ladyship says she is 
asleep.’ ” 

“It is too early for tea,” said Yictoria doubt- 
fully, moving her coffee cup off the table. 

“ Not for constituents,” replied her mother 
decidedly, “and if they refuse tea offer them 
luncheon instead ! Country people go to see so 
many sights that their meals get all mixed up, 
so they are sure to be hungry — and thirsty if 
they are men.” 

“ It is a man and a woman. What a bore ! 
There won’t be time now to finish those invita- 
tions before the carriage comes round.” But 
when Yictoria entered the drawing-room there 
was no trace of boredom on her pleasant face. 
The swish of her silk skirt as she ran downstairs 
filled Gertrude’s warlike spirit with a faint mis- 
giving, and at Miss Mandeville’s friendly greet- 
ing Mrs. Cox’s usually voluble tongue clave to 
the roof of her mouth. 

“ I am so glad to see you,” said Yictoria with 
a smile of welcome. “ It was very nice of you 
to find time to come and see us when I dare say 
every hour is filled up.” 

“We aren’t staying in London long,” gasped 
Gertrude, not knowing what else to say. 

“Then it is all the nicer of you,” laughed 


“ THE MEASURE YE METE ” 


441 


Victoria. “ But short visits in town always 
accomplish more than long ones. We poor folk 
who live here, don’t see half as much as if we 
ran up for a week twice a year. What do you 
think of the new piece at the Criterion ? ” turn- 
ing towards Albert, who was twirling his new 
kid gloves into a little roll of damp skin. 

“ Haven’t seen it yet,” he muttered. 

“ We might go to-night,” suggested Gertrude. 
“ We ought to go somewhere for a jaunt, oughtn’t 
we ? ” and she appealed to Victoria. 

“ I am quite afraid you wouldn’t get seats at 
such short notice, though I remember we once 
did, on the morning of the day. The man at 
Mitchell’s met me with the cheering announce- 
ment : 4 Fortunately there has been a death, so I 
can let you have two stalls in the third row.’ ” 
And Victoria laughed lightly. 

44 1 have rather a fancy for seeing the Albert 
Hall myself, and there was something advertised 
there this evening at seven — I read it in the pa- 
pers — but I forget whether it was a concert or a 
meeting.” 

“ How about the seats there ? ” asked her hus- 
band. 44 Should we be likely to get in ? ” 

Victoria pictured the rows of empty stalls and 
the fly-like appearance of a scanty audience in 


442 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


black bonnets, which seven o’clock entertainments 
are apt to gather; and then a brilliant idea 
struck her. 

“ There may be a general election this winter,” 
she thought to herself, but aloud she said : 

“ Won’t you have our box to-night ? We shall 
be so pleased if you care to make use of it, and 
that will save you the bother of going after 
tickets.” 

“ And the price of them, too ! ” exclaimed Al- 
bert, with a greedy look in his pale eyes. 

“ Do take it,” repeated Victoria, as if she were 
pleading for a favour to be conferred. “ Here, I 
will write the number for you on a piece of 
paper,” and she went to the writing table. “ I 
do hope you will have a pleasant evening,” she 
added, pressing the envelope into Gertrude’s 
hand. “ And now I must ring for tea.” 

“ I hardly think we ought to stay — ” began 
Albert, but Gertrude silenced him with a warn- 
ing frown. 

“ Men always jib at the thought of tea,” laughed 
Victoria, “ but we women couldn’t live without 
it, could we ? ” and she laid her hand in a fas- 
cinating friendly way on Gertrude’s arm. 

“ I always fancy my tea,” began Mrs. Cox, and 
then the remembrance of her denunciatory mis- 


“ THE MEASUEE YE METE ” 


443 


sion flashed across her mind ; and she drew a 
deep breath and cleared her throat. “ I believe,” 
she said hesitatingly, and then the entrance of 
the tea cut short her remark. Albert was watch- 
ing with deep interest the butler and the pecul- 
iarly lordly way which butlers have of presiding 
over the arrangement of a meal without lifting a 
finger in its preparation. And he came to the 
conclusion as he saw the not over-onerous duty 
of bringing in tea divided between two stately 
footmen, that the butler’s work was hardly equal 
to his wages — a conclusion to which others have 
also come, before and since. But the whole scene 
was extremely impressive to both Gertrude and 
her husband, and the former felt quite faint at 
the thought of what she once meant to say ; still 
she was a brave woman, and so made one more 
gasping attempt while Victoria’s attention was 
concentrated on the dispensing of the tea and 
sandwiches. 

“ Fine cows they must keep up here,” observed 
Albert with a laugh, as Victoria tried to tilt into 
his cup a suitable measure of the thick heavy 
substance which goes by the name of cream in 
London. 

“ Isn’t it horrid stuff ? ” exclaimed Miss Mande- 
ville confidingly. “ I often wonder what it is 


444 THE WOELD AND WINSTOW 


made of — though that is foolish of me. It is al- 
ways a mistake to know what anything is made 
of, and usually misleading too ; because things do 
not a bit consist of their materials.” 

“ I don’t follow you,” said Albert, while Ger- 
trude was nerving herself for a final plunge. 

“Well, you see,” explained Victoria kindly, 
“there need be no difference between the mate- 
rials of a Paris gown and a home-made one — ” 
but then Gertrude interposed. 

“Weren’t you recently engaged?”she asked 
bluntly ; and then she choked so violently from 
nervousness, or, as she was careful to explain af- 
terwards through her paroxysms, from “ a crumb 
gone the wrong way,” that it took Victoria’s un- 
divided attention to restore her, and to replace 
the spilled tea and saucerful of soaked cake. 

“ I expect it is my sister Violet you are think- 
ing of,” she replied after these few busy mo- 
ments, during which she had been wondering 
what the constituency had heard. And with 
ready instinct she resolved to disarm possible dis- 
approval by a flattering intimacy. “ That was a 
very trifling affair. Very unsuitable, you know, 
and we should have dragged her out of it before, 
only we knew she would soon get tired of him 
on her own account. But now we have a much 


“ THE MEASURE YE METE ” 


445 


more interesting piece of news ! I think I might 
tell you,” and she slightly emphasised the you , 
“ because you are all so nice and interested in our 
affairs. Yiolet is engaged now — only just, so this 
is a special mark of confidence,” and she took 
Gertrude’s hand with a pretty little touch of 
friendliness, “ to Captain Evelix — a man who has 
been wounded in the war and has been given the 
Victoria Cross. We are all so delighted.” 

“ Oh ! ” gasped Gertrude. 

“ Rather sudden, isn’t it ? ” exclaimed Albert. 

Victoria looked surprised. “ Oh, no ! she has 
known him for nearly three months. This is his 
photograph,” and the Coxes found themselves 
gazing in silence at the picture of a handsome 
young giant in a Highland uniform. 

“ He is rather a dear, isn’t he ? ” and Victoria 
smiled. “ And we shall bring him down into 
the division next election and show off our new 
toy. But you mustn’t tell about the engagement 
until it appears in the Morning Post , will you ? 
Or they might scold me for letting out secrets. 
Only, I don’t know how it is,” continued Miss 
Mandeville with a whimsical look, “ but one 
makes friends with some people so quickly.” 
And both Albert and Gertrude felt that they 
were remarkably blessed in possessing such innate 


446 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


attractions as to instantly claim the friendship of 
the whole British aristocracy. 

“ Must you be going ? ” exclaimed Victoria as 
her visitors at last stood up, while a little paean 
of silent thankfulness rose from her heart. “ It 
has been so good of you to come and see us ! 
Have you any message for my father ? He will 
be so pleased to hear you have called.” 

“ Oh my ! ” ejaculated Albert, when they stood 
once more on the muddy pavement outside. 

“ I wonder Merton had the cheek ! ” said Ger- 
trude with a deep-drawn breath. “ It was like 
his impudence.” 

“ She’s affable,” said Albert slowly, “ awful 
affable ! but she’s stately too. Not the sort for 
the likes of us to marry.” 

“ I should think not ! Did you notice her 
dress ? It must have cost a pretty penny. And 
there was a lovely silk petticoat all ruched un- 
derneath. I saw it when she sat on that chair 
beside the fireplace and put her foot on the 
fender. Silk stockings, too. The ten-and-six- 
penny kind.” 

“ How Merton could have dreamed of marry- 
ing one of that lot beats me,” and Albert shook 
his head. 

“ I’d as soon have married the Czar of Russia 


“ THE MEASURE YE METE ” 


447 


or the Pope of Rome,” said his wife emphatically, 
“and Merton’s a bigger fool than I gave him 
credit for,” she added with sisterly candour. 

It was a glorious afternoon of sunshine on the 
east coast. The unclouded sky and still atmos- 
phere defied all suggestion of winter’s chill. The 
gardens still looked gay with bright, late flowers, 
and the woods and bracken glowed with the 
golden beauty of autumn’s touch. It seemed as 
if that three hours’ run from London had taken 
Merton into a different zone, so summer-like the 
soft air felt after the damp, cold fog of town. 
He did not want any lunch, to his mother’s great 
regret, for in her opinion hot meat and vegetables 
were a panacea for many ills — neither would he 
talk at all except about the weather, and Mrs. 
Wain wright wisely kept all the local family news 
for a more propitious occasion. 

“ I think I’ll go out,” he said shortly, as he 
selected a cigar from his case and carefully 
lit it. 

“ Do, my boy. It is beautiful walking along 
the cliffs, and I will come and meet you later on. 
Most of the party have gone for a drive — except 
Ursula,” she added as an afterthought, “and she 
is out somewhere. The fresh air will do you 


448 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


good, my dear,” for her motherly sight noticed 
that Merton’s face was thinner and paler than it 
used to be, and there was a tired, restless look 
about his eyes. 

Merton half smiled. “ It was so tactful of 
Ursula,” he thought, “ to wait out of doors for 
him. Their meeting would be so much more 
romantic alone with the sea and country, than in 
the presence of roast beef and the lodging-house 
waiting maid. It was just like Ursula to under- 
stand. He almost believed that she would guess 
what he had come back to say to her” — for 
when our thoughts travel quickly towards any 
given goal it is difficult to realise that we make 
the journey alone, and that our company is only 
an imaginary one. As a matter of fact Ursula 
had forgotten what time Merton was expected, 
and had gone out alone for the joy of re-living 
some of the dear walks and talks she had been 
having lately with David. But when she saw 
the smart, well-dressed figure, which alone spoiled 
the beauty of nature’s landscape, coming towards 
her across the coast-bound fields, she hurried to 
meet him with an old touch of pleasure ; and be- 
cause she was so happy herself, she felt a sudden 
longing that Merton, together with the rest of 
mankind, should be happy, too. 


“ THE MEASUBE YE METE ” 


449 


“ I am so glad to see you,” she exclaimed, hold- 
ing out her hand, and looking up into his face 
with the unself-conscious gladness of simple 
friendliness. But Merton’s tongue was tied, and 
for once in all their numerous talks Ursula had 
to take the lead. She told him about Upper- 
strand and the country round ; she called his 
attention to the beauty of the coast line with its 
crumbling cliffs, and the wide stretch of shore 
streaked with the ruddy colouring of the washed- 
up seaweed, and the grass green of the slippery 
rocks. She talked about her father and Georgina 
and Winstow — of Mrs. Wain wright’s kindness 
to her since her illness, and of the happy health- 
giving visit she was having by the sea. But of 
David she said nothing ; for she knew that Mer- 
ton’s spirit was sore, and she shrank from hurt- 
ing it with even the sight of another’s joy. 

“ How well you look ! ” he said at last, “ not 
as if you had been ill at all.” For the touch of 
happiness quickly writes its message on the 
human face, and brings it a fresh measure of 
youth and beauty. 

“ I am quite well. Stronger than I have ever 
been before,” and the pink colour rushed into her 
cheeks. “ People often are after a real illness, 
you know.” 


450 THE WOKLD AND WINSTOW 


“ I am so glad,” and Merton spoke solemnly, 
“ because — because — I want you, Ursula.” 

“ I do not understand,” she exclaimed with a 
quick, puzzled look. “ What is it you want me 
to do for you, Merton ? ” 

“ To tell me that you love me — ” he began, 
but Ursula stood still with a little cry. 

“Stop, stop! You must not say that to me 
now. Haven’t you heard, Merton, about David 
and me?” 

“ David and you ! ” he repeated sharply, “ what 
do you mean ? ” 

“We love each other,” she answered simply, 
but there was a ring of proud gladness in her 
voice. 

“ What ! ” cried Merton and there was an ugly 
glitter of anger in his eyes, “ that man, twice 
your age and more, has dared to make you love 
him! It is monstrous! wicked! You cannot 
marry him, Ursula. You shall not.” 

A flush of indignation rushed over her face 
and impatient words rose to her lips ; for Merton 
had no right to say such things to her. A scorn 
of his poor, selfish idea of love swept over her, 
for had he not said a minute before that he was 
glad she was better — not for her own sake but 
because he wanted her ? And then that he 


“ THE MEASURE YE METE ” 


451 


should dare to criticise such a man as David and 
his deep, welling torrent of love. But as the 
thought of David filled the girl’s heart all angry 
feelings fled away. “ As sweet as summer ” he 
had called her only yesterday, and so for David’s 
sake no cross word must pass her lips — no 
touch of temper cloud the sweetness which he 
loved. 

“ Merton,” she said with a sudden gentleness 
born of this remembrance of David, “ I want us 
always to be friends, so you must not say things 
like that again to me. Perhaps you don’t quite 
understand about it yet.” 

“ I understand enough to know that girls are 
all alike,” he interrupted with the injustice of 
fury. “ Ready enough to fail a fellow when he 
needs them most.” 

“But, Merton, you forget. Sometimes the 
girl has need, too. And she does not often 
fail the man who comes to her in answer to it. 
I have been taking care of other people all my 
life — but David is the first person who ever 
thought it worth while to take care of me.” 

“ Confound him ! ” muttered Merton, as he 
slashed at the jagged stubble of the empty corn- 
fields with his walking stick. 

“ — And — and it is the most heavenly feeling 


452 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


in the whole world,” added Ursula with so rapt 
a face that even Merton’s anger was stayed, 
“ for I have been so ill and tried. But I love 
it all now — all the hardships and the suffering 
and the hurt — because they brought me David.” 

“And w r hat is to become of me?” Merton 
asked in an aggrieved tone. 

“ Some day I trust you will meet a woman 
who is strong enough to give you all the help 
and care, and the kind of love you want,” and 
Ursula’s face was full of pity, “ but if I were 
you, Merton, I would not look out for her. We 
make such stupid mistakes when we try to plan 
out our lives for ourselves.” 

“ I thought you would have been glad to see 
me, Ursula — in that way, I mean,” and the old 
boyish selfishness rang in his pleading voice. 
“ Why have you changed ? ” 

“Because I have looked Death and Love in 
the face, since last we met ; and I know now 
how utterly ignorant I was of both before.” 

“ I loved you — ” he began, but she stopped 
the words almost before they fell. 

“Hush! hush! You make a mistake. You 
thought perhaps, you loved me — but, Merton, 
don’t be vexed with me for saying so — you 
really only loved yourself.” 


“ THE MEASURE YE METE ” 


453 


“ How do you know that ? ” asked the young 
man sharply. 

“Because,” replied Ursula slowly, “because 
of the immeasurable difference between it and 
David’s love for me.” 

Then they saw Mrs. Wainwright hurrying to- 
wards them, and Merton realised that the Ursula 
who might once have cared for him was gone, 
and the girl beside him now no longer within his 
reach. A new Ursula, younger with the dainty 
freshness of renewed health, wiser and deeper 
through the waters of experience which had re- 
cently flooded her life. He knew that he had 
lost his power over her, and the knowledge 
hurt him; for Merton’s was one of those na- 
tures who hate to give up what they are too 
careless to keep, and in his heart he blamed 
everybody he could think of for what he alone 
had done. And Ursula, walking in silence beside 
him, wondered how ever she could have thought 
that Merton and she were in love with each 
other; and a prayer of thankfulness rose from 
her soul that God had taken so much better 
care of her than she would have done of her- 
self. A prayer, which many of us will hasten 
to offer to Him when the fuller light of the 
Beyond first dawns upon our opened eyes, and 


454 THE WOBLD AND WINSTOW 


we see the perfect whole instead of its mislead- 
ing fraction. 

“ Tea is ready, my dears,” exclaimed Mrs. Wain- 
wright, panting with the exertion of her hurried 
walk, “ and I brought a few shrimps for a relish 
seeing that it is Merton’s first day at the seaside.” 

“I hate shrimps,” he interrupted irritably — 
but it was life that Merton hated so bitterly just 
then. His mother’s kind face fell, for when the 
table failed to soothe mankind her resources were 
crippled indeed. 

“I don’t,” said Ursula quickly. “I think they 
are delicious, and I am so hungry ! ” she added 
with a smile. 

“ That’s right, my love. And Merton will feel 
different when he once sits down to them,” and 
she looked a little wistfully at the handsome, 
clouded face. 

“I shall never feel different,” he answered 
moodily, and turned his eyes out seawards to hide 
the little mist which had gathered in them and for 
a moment clouded his clear sight. And then, as 
Ursula hung behind to gather some of the grace- 
ful grasses and pale, belated poppies that fringed 
the edge of the cliff, Mrs. Wain wright laid her 
hand on Merton’s arm. 

“ It is a sad day for us mothers when we can’t 


“THE MEASURE YE METE ” 


455 


comfort the children any longer,’’ she said softly ; 
“ but I understand all about it, my boy, and there 
never can come a day when I shall not feel with 
and for you, dear. May God give you the help 
I can only pray for, now you are too grand and 
grown-up for mother to make things all right 
again for you herself, as she could when you 
were a lad.” 

And Merton remembered with a pang that he 
would willingly have thrown away this love also 
for the sake of social success, just as he had 
thrown away Ursula’s. It was not his doing 
that he had not, but because a true mother’s love 
is too tender and tenacious a thing to be torn off 
and thrust away by even the roughest or most 
careless hands. 

A few days after Merton’s visit Ursula was 
walking again along her favourite cliff path 
which runs for miles round that part of the east 
coast — climbing some of the hedges and forcing 
its way through others. At some points it comes 
perilously near the broken edge, and then winds 
for a while along the fields a little inland, entic- 
ing the wayfarers on and on with promises of 
prettier places and wider views, until distance is 
forgotten in delight. And this time David was 
with her. 


456 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


“ I missed you so,” she was telling him, <£ for 
there is nobody to take care of me .when you are 
away, and I can’t get on at all now by myself. 
You have spoiled me,” and she clung with a 
childish gesture to his arm. 

“ I can’t help it, little one.” 

“ I don’t want you to help it. It makes the 
world all full of warmth and sunshine and 
flowers.” 

“ You have been so many years in school, dear 
love. I long to give you a holiday now.” 

“You do, you do! Every day I spend with 
you is a holiday. And I feel so strangely young 
and light-hearted, as if the days were not big 
enough to hold so much happiness.” 

He crushed her little hand still closer in his 
great, strong grasp, but could not speak of the 
deep joy which welled up within him at her words. 

“I don’t believe that an}^ one who has not 
been ill could quite understand the wonderful 
freshness of being better. I feel like a little 
child again, only much brighter and merrier 
than I ever was in those days.” 

“ You were such a sad, grave little girl.” 

“ I think,” said Ursula, thoughtfully, “ that an 
illness either makes a person very young or very 
old. It never leaves you as it found you.” 


“ THE MEASURE YE METE ” 457 

“It has mad© you a thousand times more 
dear.” 

“ Do you really mean it ? It would be so 
dreadful to pass through such an experience and 
come out of it no richer in wisdom and gentle- 
ness and sweetness as well as in the feelings of 
renewed health and youth. Oh, David ! ” and 
her voice thrilled with earnestness, “I do so 
want to be good ! You’ll help me, won’t you ? ” 

“We will help each other, my darling.” 

“ I want to be good for two reasons. Because 
I belong to you and because I belong to God.” 

“Yet that is only one reason, after all, sweet- 
heart. For love’s dear sake. And there is no 
stronger one on this side death, or the other,” he 
added gently. 

For a moment they walked in the silence of a 
great peace, and then the glad gleam of young- 
heartedness lit up again the grave depths of 
Ursula’s eyes. 

“ Georgina gave me some good advice on Sun- 
day evening,” she told him with a little smile ; 
“ I was very tired and homesick for you, and my 
head ached, and when I said something about 
not being very strong yet she told me I ought to 
thank God every hour that the fever had only 
left some weakness behind and not a lifelong 


458 THE WORLD AND WINSTOW 


delicacy or disease. I wondered how many 
times a day she thanked God for not having had 
a fever at all ! ” 

“ And how did you answer her, dear child ? ” 

“ I shocked her by saying that I know God too 
well to offer up to Him any such stupid, gloomy 
little thanksgivings. Of course really my whole 
heart is full of gratitude and joy, but for some- 
thing better than only a negative blessing. Oh, 
look, David ! ” she suddenly exclaimed as they 
turned towards the west. For the sun, hidden 
all day by a soft veil of blue-grey cloud, as 
it gradually sank towards the horizon line, 
cleared for its royal way a pathway of gold 
stretching right round one part of the landscape 
and far away over the northern sea. And as 
they watched the band of light broaden and 
brighten as the sun himself drew near, the shin- 
ing rays suddenly escaped and swept over the 
whole scene as the smile on a well-loved face. 

The whole world of woods and fields, of sea 
and sand caught the burnish of that wondrous 
yellow light, and claimed in a thousand different 
ways its beauty for their own. The clouds 
melted by the magic of that gleaming miracle, 
and the saffron streak which lay beneath them 
deepened into orange as it spread upwards to 


“THE MEASURE YE METE ” 


459 


meet the blue and purple and rose colour of the 
opal sky. 

“ There is this to thank Him for,” said Ursula, 
exultingly, her face fanned by the pure seaborn 
wind, and her hands stretched out as if to grasp 
some tangible treasure of that infinite wealth of 
glory ; “ all the beauty of nature as well as of life. 
For you, David, and our love for each other, and 
for the splendid, young, spring feeling in my 
limbs as well as my heart. But most of all,” she 
added softly, as the great ball of fire fell behind 
the distant hills, leaving a crimson afterglow in 
its train, “for the message He sends us by Joy 
or Pain of how exquisitely near to each other 
Heaven and Earth really are.” 


FINIS 











* 


I 


t 











Bept le a©01 


AUG 29 1901 






